Heart of a Champion
by wearylily
Summary: The journal was supposed to be his escape. But what happens when it's his enemies he's escaping with?
1. Chapter 1: Without My Fame

**Chapter One:** **Without My Fame**

"_If you come to fame not understanding who you are, it will define who you are."_

_-Oprah Winfrey_

The doors to the Great Hall burst open as a procession of young men clad in dark brown cloaks storms in. They each carry matching staffs that spark as the students slam them against the floor in unison. Harry watches them, fascinated by their precision, and amusedly hears Ron gasp. "That's Viktor bloody Krum!"

Harry follows Ron's fervent pointing to the end of the procession, where Viktor Krum and the man Harry assumes to be Durmstrang's headmaster stride confidently down the center aisle. The headmaster appears to be a tall, imposing man with eyes that seemed to dig into your soul. The man reminded Harry of Professor Snape, minus the greasy hair and degrading sneer.

Harry's attention is diverted back to the Durmstrang students as they finish their routine by twirling their staffs, again with perfect synchronicity, into the air, then bringing them down harshly onto the stone floor. Dumbledore rises from his seat and greets the Snape-like Durmstrang headmaster as the students move off to the left side of the Great Hall. '_This is all so _dramatic,' Harry thought to himself irritatedly.

Beauxbatons Academy of Magic arrives much more gracefully, with the doors gently swinging open. The students glide down the aisle, wearing baby blue dresses, shawls, and hats. Harry watches with mild disinterest, but he notices that Ron's attention is completely overtaken by a particularly beautiful blond young woman. Harry elbows Hermione, and they both roll their eyes as Ron practically drools over her.

At the end of the procession, the giant headmistress follows and greets Dumbledore with a kiss of her hand.

Dumbledore turns to the many students gathered, and the room slowly grows quiet. "This year...Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament!" The Great Hall erupts in cheers. "We are happy to welcome the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang here. Please, treat Hogwarts as your home during your stay. I ask that you all find seats amongst the Hogwarts students already seated."

The newly-arrived students walk amongst the four House tables until they each finds open places to sit. Journals of a deep amber color appear in front of each seated student, with the student's name elegantly inscribed on the book's spine.

"I am sure your excitement about the Triwizard Tournament has not caused you to forget our other favored tradition," Dumbledore says slowly, "of an all-inclusive competition that pairs students and teachers from all our schools to communicate anonymously and guess each other's identities. For those of you not familiar with this tradition, the rules are listed on the backs of your journals. Good luck to everyone, whether you are also participating in the Triwizard Tournament or not! Now enjoy tonight's feast!"

Harry looks at Ron and Hermione inquisitively. "Have you heard about this before?"

Before Hermione can speak, Ron starts talking with his mouth already full of mashed potatoes. "My siblings have told me about it. Remember Tom Riddle's diary in second year? How you and Ginny talked to him and he could respond? These journals are pretty the same. Except no talking to dead people or being attacked by dead people."

Hermione takes advantage of Ron's pause to smack his head and reprimand him by saying, "Ron, that's disgusting. I know your mother didn't raise a pig." She picks up her journal and shows Harry the rules on the back. "Basically, when you open this book, you can ask a question. Someone in this room will answer it. The book won't let them write anything besides the truth, so you can trust everything they say to be true, at least from their perspective," Hermione pauses to take a breath and then quickly continues, "They will then ask you a question that you must answer. You will also be compelled to tell the truth. This goes back and forth until one of you can guess the other's identity. Whoever guesses correctly moves on in the competition and is paired with another person, until there is either one winner or the Triwizard Tournament ends," Harry picks up his journal curiously and pulls out his quill, but before he can even open the book, Hermione slams her hand over it hastily. "I almost forget to mention it, but you can only ask a particular question one time, even if you talk to multiple people. So don't waste all the good questions right away. Also, you can't just ask for their name. The book won't tolerate any questions it seems to be too much of an obvious cheat."

Harry pauses and carefully asks, "So no one that I talk to in this book will know who I am?"

Hermione nods. "But they'll figure out who you are if you give away too many details about yourself."

_So I have the chance to talk to anyone in this room without them knowing who I am! I'll be just like any other person, without Voldemort and my dead parents, without people disliking who I am before I even talk to them. I can finally be normal, not a freak or a hero to those around me._

The feast dies down, but before anyone can leave, Dumbledore stands up once again. "Some final pieces of information about the Triwizard Tournament: due to some fatalities in the past, only witches and wizards who are of-age may enter this year. You will have until tomorrow's feast to enter your names in the Goblet of Fire."

Outraged cries filled the Great Hall as Dumbledore sat down once more. Harry personally didn't see the issue. It's not like entering the Triwizard Tournament seemed like a good way to ensure one's survival anyway. _I pity anyone stupid enough to risk their life in a competition as pointless as this._

* * *

Harry lies in his bed that evening after the feast. His journal is sitting in his lap, still unopened. He takes a deep breath and tentatively opens it. _This is my chance to be normal._ With a shaky hand, Harry dips his quill in ink and asks his first question. **Did you just arrive at Hogwarts today?**

A few seconds pass, before an answer in practically illegible handwriting appears below his question. **yes. did you just arrive at Hogwarts today?**

Harry sighs and hopes the conversation will get more interesting. **No. Are you male or female?**

His mysterious partner responds with, **male** and asks **what house are you in?**

Harry chuckles at how basic smalltalk has suddenly become so useful, and then he pauses for a moment. _How can I answer this without giving away too much?_ **The best one. Do you play Quidditch?** He grins triumphantly when the book lets him get away with that answer.

A half hour passes with no answer. _I'm liking this competition so far. And I think I might actually be decent at it._ He whispers, "Nox," and drifts into a content, dreamless sleep.

* * *

"So, I've already figured out that she's a third year Ravenclaw who isn't very popular and frequently finds herself the target of bullying!" Hermione exclaims as Harry sits down with Ron and her for breakfast.

Harry makes a plate of fruit and eggs for himself as he remarks, "That sounds like Luna Lovegood to me."

Ron makes what Harry assumes to be a noise of agreement, though it's hard to tell when the redhead has a mouthful of bacon.

Hermione's eyes light up thoughtfully as she contemplates the idea. "I can test that theory." She quickly scribbles a response and question in her journal and then intently gazes at Luna, who is eating her own breakfast not far away at the Ravenclaw table. Luna glances down at her book and writes something. Exactly when she stops writing, Hermione glances down at her own book, where Harry sees that a response has appeared. "It's definitely her!" Harry watches her carefully write **You are Luna Lovegood.** Her journal briefly lights up blue and the pages flip, as if blown by a strong sudden wind, until settling on a blank page.

"Of course Hermione is already on her second person. I still have no idea who my first person is," Ron grumbles. "What about you, Harry? Please tell me I'm not the only one struggling here."

"Well…" Harry glances down at his journal and trails off as he sees a new response written. **yes. Are you in Ravenclaw?** "All I know is that he's a Quidditch player from Durmstrang with a hatred of capitalization and terrible handwriting. I don't know what to ask next though because the only person I know who plays Quidditch from Durmstrang is Viktor Krum."

Ron perks up. "There are only four Quidditch players from Durmstrang that showed up here." He points at Viktor and the three guys he's talking to. "Obviously one is Viktor. But there's also Adrian Gillevet, Mihai Olga, and Constantin Moraru."

As they're watching, Viktor and one of the others stand up and place their names in the Goblet of Fire. Harry looks at Ron. "I think I just found my next question." He returns to his journal. **No. Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?**

Harry hurriedly hides his journal underneath his plate and watches out of the corner of his eye as one of the two Quidditch players' heads shoots up and scans the room with a scowl. Harry notices that many other people in the room are using their journals, so he decides to take his own journal back out from underneath his plate.

The Quidditch player's response appears so darkly, it looked as if he was trying to murder either his quill or the book. Harry wasn't sure which. **no… Did you put your name in the Goblet?**

Harry leans over to Ron and murmurs, "Who's the really upset-looking one?"

"Still talking about the Quidditch players?" Ron whispers back.

"Yeah, the one with blond hair trying to kill his eggs?"

"Adrian Gillevet. He's the keeper on Viktor's team."

Harry turns back to his journal and writes, in very neat handwriting, **You are Adrian Gillevet.** His notebook mimics what Hermione's had done minutes earlier: it flashes blue and the pages flip frantically until they settle on a blank one.

A loud slap echoes through the Great Hall. Harry looks up to see Adrian angrily mumbling under his breath, his journal thrown to the floor a few feet away. He stands up. Viktor and the others laugh at their friend's misfortune as Adrian races out of the Great Hall.

* * *

Harry spends his day in a good mood, even though he's currently sitting in Potions class. _I won my first round against Adrian. I can't wait to see who I'll get to talk to next without my fame. I feel normal for once! Not even Malfoy or Snape could-_

He is then abruptly dragged back to reality when a sharp paper airplane jabs him in the head. Harry starts to unfold the paper, but then Snape swoops in and snatches it from his hands. "Passing notes, Potter? Let's share this with the whole class then, shall we?" He pauses dramatically and clears his throat before reading the note aloud. "Once upon a time, there lived a child named Potter. His parents despised him so much that they begged for death and happily took advantage of the opportunity when it arrived. There is also a poorly-drawn picture of two smiling dead people." The note bursts into flames in Snape's hand as Snape looks around the room with a sneer. "Desperate for attention, are we, Potter?"

Harry glances away from Snape angrily while he fights to keep his eyes from filling with tears. For a brief moment, Harry's eyes meet Malfoy's. The Slytherin has a smirk plastered on his faces and gives Harry a wink. Harry face gets hot with anger and his blood boils. He slowly points to himself, then at Malfoy, and mouths, "_After class."_

By the time class ends twenty minutes later, Harry looks for Malfoy frantically, but the blonde is nowhere to be seen.

* * *

That evening, the Great Hall buzzed in anticipation of the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament Champions. Harry, however, was not as excited for the event as he had been that morning. News of Malfoy's note had spread around the school like wildfire, and everyone seemed to believe Snape's accusation that Harry had written it himself. Everyone shook their heads pityingly and whispered to each other when they saw him. Whispered had followed Harry ever since he first stepped foot inside Hogwarts, but these felt different. These whispers seemed to crawl under his skin and take residence inside him, multiplying beyond measure until the only thoughts he had left were just as pathetic as everyone thought he was.

Dumbledore calls for silence. The chatter in the Great Hall quiets. Harry's self-deprecating thoughts do not.

Harry forces himself to pay attention as Dumbledore picks names from the Goblet. Fleur from Beauxbatons. Ron claps profoundly for her, and Harry tries to join him, though he does so half-heartedly. Viktor from Durmstrang. Both Ron and Hermione cheer. Harry barely maintains a smile. Cedric the Hufflepuff from Hogwarts. Harry hardly hears the name. But then… the Goblet flashes blue again and sends out another name. Harry's daze is shattered when Dumbledore calls out, "Harry Potter!"

He can't breathe. He can't hear what anyone is saying. He stands up. Hermione and Ron are saying things to him, trying to grab his hands. Dumbledore is beckoning him. _I can't do this._ Harry stumbles towards the doors of the Great Hall.


	2. Chapter 2: Rumor Has It

"_The cold hard truth will fall on stony ground, whereas your all-around trashy rumor will flourish like a weed."_

—_Sue Grafton_

He doesn't get very far. Mad-Eye Moody snatches the back of his collar before he could even reach the end of the Gryffindor table. Moody drags Harry to stand in front of Dumbledore and the Goblet of Fire. The Headmaster shows Harry the slightly burnt piece of parchment in his hand. It reads "Harry Potter." Harry's face pales further.

"Did you put your name in the Goblet, Harry?" Dumbledore sternly inquires.

"No. I don't want to be a Champion…" Harry whispers in response.

"Did you ask someone else to—"

"No!" Harry blurts out and then takes a deep breath before continuing. "No. I don't want this."

Dumbledore sighs and looks at Harry forlornly. "I'm sorry then, my boy."

* * *

A few minutes later, Harry finds himself in some sort of trophy room with the other three Champions. Everyone seems reluctant to speak to one another, so a stifling silence fills the air. Cedric, who had been grinning in amazement when his name was called, stares at the ground and refuses to make eye contact with Harry. Viktor glares at him brazenly. When Harry looks at Fleur, she's the only one who looks back at him kindly, with a soft smile on her delicate face.

The three headmasters, plus the Minister for Magic, then stride into the room mid-argument. "Dumbledore, this simply isn't possible! You can't let him compete!" hisses Fudge.

"Something _foul _is afoot here. The boy either cheated or someone else cheated for him. Either way, I _don't_ support the idea of letting him compete," adds Igor Karkaroff, Durmstrang's headmaster, insistently.

The Beauxbatons headmaster, Olympe Maxime remarks, "He is not even seventeen years old. This boy is a child who does not want to compete. People have died in this bloody tournament. I do not think it is right to force him to put his life at risk."

Harry wishes he could disappear through a hole in the floor rather than listen to these adults talk about him as if he isn't there. He notices Fleur glancing at him almost apologetically from the corner of his eye and feels even more pathetic.

Dumbledore slowly nods and says, "While I agree with you all, I am afraid that Harry has no choice but to compete." He looks pointedly at Harry, before continuing, "If he does not compete, his magic will be stripped from him. That has always been the way that the Goblet works."

The numbness Harry had been feeling earlier returns, stronger than ever. He worries that he might forget how to breathe as the numbness seeps into his throat and slowly chokes him.

The adults quiet for a moment. They all nod resignedly and mumble their consent to allowing Harry to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. If Fleur hadn't chosen that moment to squeeze Harry's hand gently, he thinks he might've either passed out or fled from the room.

* * *

_I'm a Triwizard Tournament Champion,_ Harry thinks to himself bitterly. _There goes my plan of enjoying a year of relative invisibility._ He mutters the password to the Fat Lady and steps into the Gryffindor Common Room. _By this hour, everyone should be_—

Except he doesn't finish his thought, because he notices that _not_ everyone is asleep, despite the late hour. Ron is sitting on the couch by the fireplace. His arms are crossed and a sour expression has taken over his normally friendly face. _Ron won't think I did this on purpose, right? He's my best friend. He'll believe me…_

Harry walks over to him and sits on the armchair across from the redhead. He waits for Ron to say something.

He doesn't have to wait long. Ron looks Harry in the eyes and demands, "Why'd you do it? And how'd you even manage it?"

"I didn't do anything Ron. I don't want to be competing in this tournament. I would've told you and Hermione if I was going to do something stupid like this." Harry stares at his best friend pleadingly.

"So they're actually letting you compete? Unbelievable," Ron mutters angrily. Harry doesn't know what else he can say, but he's desperate to have Ron be on his side. He _needs_ Ron to be on his side in the face of all this adversity.

So he whispers, "Ron, today has been such a rough day for me. Between the stuff with the journals stressing me out and the Triwizard Tournament, I just really need to be able to count on you being my friend. I don't know if I can get through all this on my own…"

Ron suddenly lets loose a dark laugh that startles Harry. It fills him with a sense of dread. The Ron he knows would never react to Harry's heartfelt words that way. But this Ron just did. Harry suddenly feels scared—no, more like _terrified_—that he's lost Ron, and probably Hermione too, for good. And because of something that isn't even his fault. Maybe competing in the risky Triwizard Tournament shouldn't be such a big deal to him. After all, if he doesn't have friendship keeping him sane anymore, he has nothing else to lose.

"Good luck, Harry," Ron suddenly says. Harry looks up at him sharply, hopefully. But then: "I hope the fame is worth it to you. I don't think we should talk for a while. You need to focus on the Triwizard Tournament that you apparently care so much about." He stands up, and next thing Harry knows, he's left sitting alone by the fire. Harry had hoped to be alone when he first walked into the Common Room. But now, he wishes he could feel anything but the emptiness of being truly, completely _alone._

* * *

The next morning, Harry walks into the Great Hall for breakfast. He sees Ron and Hermione sitting at their usual spot. His seat is empty. He could try to go sit there. He wants to. But then he remembers what Ron had said to him last night, and suddenly there's nothing he wouldn't do to avoid talking to Ron right now. So he tries to ignore Ron and Hermione's happy faces. He pretends like their laughter doesn't stir up a yearning in his heart for him to be part of the laughter. _I've taken them for granted for so long._

Harry takes a seat at the end of the Gryffindor table, where there aren't many others sitting. He hopes no one tries to talk to him. But then Malfoy shows up, and Harry isn't surprised that yet another of his hopes is quickly destroyed practically as soon as he's hoped it.

"So, Potter," Malfoy drawls as Crabbe and Goyle flank him on either side. For a moment, Harry pities Malfoy for having glorified bodyguards instead of friends. But then Harry remembers the note Malfoy had written in potions class yesterday, and his pity quickly dissipates. "Rumor has it that you were eliminated from one tournament yesterday, so you decided to force your way into another. From a Slytherin sense, I'm almost _proud_ of you! But it still disgusts me how _pathetic_ you are."

Harry feels his face burning. Malfoy's words make him feel dirty, like he must have done something wrong if the Slytherin would approve of it. Except this rumor is a lie, even if Malfoy doesn't know it. "Where'd you hear that rumor?" Harry asks as calmly as he can.

Malfoy laughs, prompting Crabbe and Goyle to mimic him like parrots. "Your _best friend_ Ronald Weasley. Shouldn't he be a trustworthy source?"

Harry's face pales as he realizes that Ron's anger has extended beyond just not wanting to talk to him. "Apparently not," he gasps out to Malfoy, before snatching an apple and fleeing the Great Hall.

* * *

It's as if he'd gone back to his second year, when everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. Everywhere he goes, he hears his name being whispered. Pointing fingers and sneers at every turn. Nowhere does he feel free of judgment.

The library is empty, which suits Harry just fine. He steps inside tepidly and sits down by a huge window, The views of Hogwarts' breathtaking grounds help to take his mind off of recent events. As he looks outside, he thinks about all the times he's done homework while resting against huge tree trunks. He looks at the soft grass that has tickled him gently while he laid on it and stared up at the sky. He thinks about the gorgeous castle itself has been his magical shelter these past few years. He thinks about how the beauty of Hogwarts has survived no matter what horrific events have taken place inside its walls. _I can be like Hogwarts. I can endure everything that's happening right now. My heart will stay the same._

Harry breathes out a sigh of relief as he feels his heart lighten slightly. He takes a bite of the apple he'd brought from the Great Hall and looks at the journal he'd forgotten he had had in his hands since he'd left the Gryffindor Common Room this morning. _Everyone apparently thinks I'm out of the competition, but I'm not. In fact, I should have someone new to talk to. _

He puts the journal on the table in front of him. The pages flip open and land on a page where a question awaits him: **Are you a student?**

_That's an interesting first question. Seems like the kind of thing a teacher would ask, since I just keep assuming everyone is a student. _He replies: **Yes. Are you a teacher? **

Harry continues munching on his apple until a reply appears: **Yes. Are you male?**

He picks up his quill once again and writes: **Yes. Which school do you teach at?**

The answer this time is, unsurprisingly, indirect: **The** _**superior **_**magical institution. Do you attend Durmstrang or Hogwarts?**

_At least I'm talking to someone much smarter than Adrian. This person knows when it's actually worth giving a straight answer and when it isn't._ He says: **Hogwarts. Are you a teacher at Hogwarts?**

When no reply is forthcoming, Harry looks at the time. Classes are about to start. He picks up his journal and runs out of the library, hoping he'll make it to charms in time.

* * *

Over the next few days, it takes all of Harry's mental strength to survive the constant whispering, rumors, and taunts that he encounters on a daily basis. He stops going to the Great Hall for food and eats by himself in the kitchens just to get away from the glares. His teachers are the only ones who speak civilly to him, and even they don't seem particularly interested in his well-being. He misses his friends constantly, especially Ron.

At one point, he runs into Hermione in the hall outside Snape's potions classroom. He guesses she was waiting for him. "Harry, I just wanted to say that Ron—"

He cuts her off. "Ron doesn't want to talk to me, I know. And if he does want to talk to me, he can do that himself."

She looks down and bites her lip. "He's being stubborn, Harry. He misses you, but he doesn't want to admit he's wrong. And I miss you, too."

Harry sighs. "Do you think I put my name in the Goblet of Fire?"

She averts her eyes and doesn't answer.

"I didn't, okay? My friends should believe me." He walks away.

* * *

Harry is, thankfully, able to find some happiness by continuing to talk to the mysterious teacher in his journal. Over the few days since they first started writing to each other, he figures out that he teaches at Hogwarts and doesn't have any kids. The rest of the information he gathers is too broad or too specific to be of much use. Luckily for Harry, he doesn't really care about winning or losing the contest. He just wants to have interesting conversations with people who don't know who he is.

He is proud of himself that this teacher still hasn't figured out his identity. Harry has, somewhat worryingly, revealed that he is at least in his fourth year and has an owl as a familiar. It seems like his partner is slowly getting closer to guessing his name. But recently, the questions have been becoming a bit . . . _strange_. They're asking for information that Harry doesn't think any of the teachers would be able to associate with him. So as much as he doesn't love the idea of sharing so much personal information, he finds himself unable to resist testing the limits of his newfound anonymity.

For instance, the most recent question asks **What is your social life like?**

_Well, that's ironic._ His honest answer now would be very different than it would have been even just a week ago. _Yet another reason being honest won't hurt me._ He responds: **I don't really have friends at the moment. It's complicated. Do you like your job?**

* * *

Severus Snape has never particularly enjoyed interacting with students, and he is quite certain that they have never particularly enjoyed interacting with him. It's therefore strange that he is rather invested in the conversation he is currently having with a Hogwarts student via the journal he is using to participate in the triannual identity-guessing competition. He had spoken with two students before his current challenge. The first, George Weasley, had taken him less than hour to figure out. The only challenge there had been figuring out which twin it was.

His current challenge is certainly proving much more difficult. Admittedly, Severus has also been getting distracted ever since the student admitted to a strange fact: he doesn't have anyone that he _really_ considers his family.

Ever since then, Severus hasn't been able to resist asking questions that are of a more personal nature. While he might have a surly exterior, he _does_ care about his students. And he currently fears that one of them is suffering. _It's more important than ever that I find out who I'm talking to._

He opens up his journal and sees the most recent reply and question. He replies: **Not entirely. Do you enjoy your summers?**

A few moments pass, before a scribbled reply appears. **I can't say that I do. What don't you like about your job?**

Severus writes back quickly. **I dislike political drama. Do you dislike your summers because your "family" mistreats you? **He thinks he knows the answer already, but he doesn't want to think about what it would mean. About how much of the responsibility he has for this boy's continued suffering.

The word **Yes **appears, scribbled in what Severus guesses is anger.

He doesn't bother to look at the boy's question for him. Instead, he slams the journal closed and puts his head in his hands.


	3. Chapter 3: Let Me Help You

"_It is a good man that stands up for his friends, but an honorable man who stands up for his enemies." _

-Violet Haberdasher

Harry blanches at the question he has just been asked. _Why would one of my professors ask such a personal question? It certainly won't help him uncover my identity. No one knows about the Dursleys except Dumbledore and Hagrid. _He shakily picks up his quill, dips it in black ink, and writes, **No. Do you always take such a personal interest in your students' lives? **

At least, that's what Harry wants to write. He tries to write the word "no" over and over again, but each time, the black ink bursts into a blood red color that glares at him incriminatingly before fading away entirely. _I hate you, you stupid journal, and your insane lie detection abilities._ Harry feels his heart drop as he realizes what the journal is going to force him to admit. **Yes. Do you always take such a personal interest in your students' lives? **

He waits a few minutes, staring outside at the trees that remind him to be strong. These days, his mental strength isn't something he can ever take for granted. When he glances down at his journal again, there is a reply awaiting him: **I care more than it may seem. How does your family mistreat you? **

Anger is beginning to boil inside Harry. Anger directed at the journal for forcing him to be honest, anger directed at this professor for prying into his life in a way that seems unrelated to the contest, and anger directed at himself for ever believing that this year would be all sunshine and rainbows.

So, he lets his anger take over as he writes. **They made me live in a cupboard under the stairs for years. I've done all the chores while the other kid is spoiled rotten. I'm hit and yelled at if I speak out of turn. I'm basically a house elf when I'm not at this school. Is that what you wanted to hear?**

Breathing hard, Harry realizes that that may not have been the smartest decision. He doesn't know for sure if any of the professors are, in fact, aware of his home situation with the Dursleys. _It's unlikely, though, considering how Snape always seems to think I'm some kind of pretentious brat._

He's comforted at least to a small degree by the fact that the professor continues asking questions rather than guessing his identity. **Of course this abuse is nothing that I want to hear. I simply feel that I must hear it regardless. How often have you experienced physical violence?**

Harry slams the book closed and leaves the library after that, but he can't leave behind the conversation in his journal. Why does this professor keeps asking him questions about the "abuse" he's experienced? He feels his numbness from earlier creep back into him. It settles around him like a thick cloak and irrefutably silences Harry's inner cries of resistance.

* * *

Defense Against the Dark Arts. It has always been Harry's favorite subject, but he always finds himself dreading it at the beginning of every school year anyway. Mostly because a great deal of the issues he finds himself facing every year are inexplicably tied to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors, none of whom have ever stuck around for more than one year while Harry's been at Hogwarts.

This year, with Professor Moody teaching the class, Harry has been hoping things would be different. A real auror should make the best teacher for this subject, he'd thought. And Dumbledore really seems to trust him, which is a good sign.

But as it turns out, Professor Moody appears to be competing with Snape for the _Who Can Make Harry the Most Uncomfortable? _Award. Today in class, for example, the idiosyncratic professor had apparently decided it would be a good idea to switch things around and teach the class about the Unforgivables. Instead of teaching his students how to defend themselves from these curses, however, Moody forces them all to watch as he uses each of them on a spider.

After class, Harry is extremely eager to leave, but he gets held back by a gruff voice calling, "Potter! I need to speak with you."

Harry sighs and turned around from where he had been halfway out the door. Moody beckons him closer, and Harry reluctantly obeys. "What is it, Professor?"

Moody looks at him critically, with the air of someone considering whether or not to let someone else in on a secret. "I highly suggest that you take your broom and go flying over the northeastern part of the Forbidden Forest. There's something there that will be of extreme interest and usefulness to you."

"Erm...Okay, thank you for the advice, Professor Moody." Harry left the room, pondering what the eccentric auror could possibly mean by what he'd told him. Flying to that part of the woods was certainly a horrible idea: it was not only after curfew, but the Forbidden Forest was _always_ forbidden. And after some of the things he'd seen inside it, Harry had no reason to doubt the justification of that decision and he never did listen to the rules anyways.

* * *

Despite all the reasons why it's definitely a bad idea, Harry inevitably finds himself sneaking out of the Gryffindor boys' dormitory later that night under the cover of his invisibility cloak. After locating his broom in its usual spot amongst all the Gryffindor Quidditch Team's equipment, Harry ponders his next move. _Should I try to fly while using the invisibility cloak to remain unseen? Would that even work? What if Professor Moody is just trying to get me into trouble for some reason? Dumbledore might trust him, but I'm not sure I do…_

He eventually decides to trust the cover of the dark to hide him. The possibility that the cloak would hide him better isn't worth the risk of losing such a valuable item. So Harry tucks the invisibility cloak away inside his robe pocket and positions himself on his broom. He takes off gently and glides above the Forbidden Forest until he's high enough to judge where the northeastern section of it must be.

_I wonder what I'm supposed to be looking for,_ Harry thinks as he descends carefully towards his targeted area. It doesn't take him long to find out. Harry suddenly hears loud roars and swerves on his broom to narrowly avoid a column of hot flames that suddenly bursts from a dragon's gaping mouth below him.

_Dragons._ Huge, loud creatures. But these dragons aren't wild. They're being managed by what looks like a team of witches and wizards. Harry realizes the area must be cloaked with spells that hide the noise, since he hadn't heard anything until he was practically on top of the beasts. There are four of them. _And four Triwizard Tournament Champions_, Harry thinks to himself with dread.

* * *

The next morning, Harry pulls out his journal and finally responds to the question he had been asked yesterday. As he does so, the numbness revisits him. But Harry doesn't mind because he's not sure he could open up about things like this if his emotions weren't dulled in some way. **A few times a week on average. Usually I'm only left with a few bruises though. How do you intend to use all this information you're gathering about me, especially considering that you don't even know who I am? **Harry then closes the book with a gentle thud.

Harry is walking in the courtyard that afternoon when he sees Draco Malfoy sneering down at him and hopping down from his position in a tree. "My father and I have this bet, Potter. I don't think you'll last ten minutes in the Triwizard Tournament. But he doesn't even think you'll last five!"

The numbness creeps back again. Harry is beginning to welcome it with open arms. c He can do what he has to do if his pesky feelings don't get in the way. A person devoid of emotions can easily ignore petty insults like Malfoy's. So Harry keeps walking past Malfoy. But the Slytherin apparently doesn't like being ignored (which could explain why he's always acting out to get Harry's attention…) because he shouts, and Harry turns around to see Malfoy standing on the ground with his wand extended towards Harry.

But before Malfoy can do anything else, Professor Moody appears practically out of nowhere and casts a spell at Malfoy himself. And next thing Harry knows, a ferret as platinum blond as Malfoy's hair is being whisked around by Moody: forced to crawl down Goyle's pants and flipped up and down in the air.

Throughout the whole incident, Harry finds himself struggling to break through the numb veil encasing him, as if it's suddenly imperative that he does so. He finally succeeds and his eyes widen as he realizes how wrongly Moody is using transfiguration. "Professor! Stop it! You can't use transfiguration to punish a student!"

Moody looks at Harry, as though astonished he'd stand up for the spoiled prat. Harry takes advantage of the moment to grab Malfoy, who squirms as a ferret in his arms, as well as the boy's robes, wand, and school bag. He quickly flees from the courtyard to find a quiet alcove, where he sets Malfoy down. Harry quickly casts a reversing spell that he luckily remembered how to do, and quickly covers the naked Slytherin with his robes.

Malfoy gasps and can't seem to prevent the tears that stream down his face. Despite looking at the face of his enemy, the boy who's been bullying him since their first year, Harry doesn't feel anything except sympathy for the trauma he's just undergone.

The blonde quickly looks up from where he's hidden his head in his arms and seems to realize for the first time that Harry had been the one who'd helped him out of that awful situation. "What are you doing here, Potter?" His voice lacks its usual contempt. Now it sounds only bitter, as though he truly doesn't understand why Harry, or anyone else, would want to help him through a moment like this.

"Let me help you," is all Harry replies with. He hands Malfoy his wand and casts a cleaning spell over the boy's grass-covered robes. He reaches out to smooth Malfoy's hair down into its normal perfect appearance, and is surprised that Malfoy doesn't stop him.

"I've been humiliated many times, but that was the worst," he finally says glumly.

"You didn't deserve that. Were you really even going to curse me?" Harry asks.

Malfoy sighs and runs a hand through his hair, as if he'd forgotten Harry's hand still lingered there. Their hands brush against each other, and Harry feels a tingle where they touch as he takes his hand away from Draco's head. "No, Potter, I wasn't. But you probably thought I was going to, so why did you help me?"

Harry doesn't answer. Instead, he sits next to Malfoy. They spend the next few minutes together in silence. He listens as the traumatized boy's breathing slows from the near-hysterical pace it had maintained when Harry first transfigured him back. He watches as Malfoy's tears stop flowing. And then, Malfoy stands up and grabs his bag from where Harry had set it down nearby. He pauses and says something unexpected: "Sorry about the note, Potter."

As Malfoy leaves, Harry wonders if anything will change between them. He doubts it. This incident certainly won't repeat itself, and Malfoy won't want to acknowledge the way Harry had helped him. But Harry's numbness is momentarily gone, so he contents himself to being happy that he did what he deemed to be the right thing. He's never been much of a bystander.

* * *

During Divination, Harry decides to take out his journal once again. There is another answer awaiting him: **Let me help you. That's all I want to do with this information. Do you get enough to eat when you're with your family?**

Harry feels a twinge of longing. The idea that someone wants to help him, that an adult cares about his struggles, that he could confide in someone . . . is all too good to be true. Harry trusts his friends (or, he did), but even then he didn't share many details of his summers with the Dursleys. He certainly shouldn't trust this professor to understand what he's gone through. He shouldn't trust him to be there for him when even his best friends have broken that trust. Why should he trust the professor, no adult ever cared before.

So he writes: **I don't eat nearly as much as them. But I manage. How will you help me if you never find out who I am?**

* * *

Harry's busy day hasn't allowed him to totally forget what he had seen in the Forbidden Forest last night. _The dragons._ That has to be the first task, right? Their presence so close to Hogwarts seemed far too coincidental to be unrelated to the Triwizard Tournament. The first task was only about a week away. _Am I going to have to fight a dragon? How do you even do that?_

Harry still avoids the Great Hall whenever possible and finds himself eating many of his meals in the library. Now, he sits there nibbling on the chicken he had grabbed for dinner. With this many books, there must be some useful information about dragons. He resigns himself to spending a great deal of time searching for it. He can't think of any better way to prepare for what he might have to do.

Harry stands up and begins scanning the shelves, snatching any books he deems promising. After he's assembled several stacks of thick tomes, he sits back down and cracks open the first one.

* * *

Ever since . . . _the incident_ a few days ago, Draco can't seem to keep his eyes off of Potter. It began innocently enough, with Draco sneaking a glance at Potter every now and then during some of their shared classes. He was only looking at the Gryffindor to see if he could somehow deduce why the target of his taunts for so many years had defended Draco's dignity the way that he unexpectedly had. Maybe the answer would be written on Potter's forehead. _You never know! _

But Draco's fascination with Potter has been . . . escalating . . . just a bit. It's caused him to spend the past few days secretly following Potter around the castle when he has nowhere important to be. Draco realizes he would be hard-pressed to convince anyone that he's not a stalker or a member of the Boy-Who-Lived FanClub (Yes, there is one. No, Draco has _never_ considered joining. Except at the beginning of first year, but he doesn't like to talk about that.).

He's currently sat in the library, watching Potter study. Nothing particularly exciting, but he can't seem to tear himself away. He's never seen Potter as determined to focus on his studying as he has been the past few days. _So many uncharacteristic behaviors . . . I had better keep observing to make sure that this really is Potter and not an imposter with a knack for Polyjuice Potion. _

So he's still there watching when Granger shows up about fifteen minutes later. Potter stands up and walks over to the table she's elected to sit down at nearby. Draco can't resist casting an eavesdropping spell so that he can hear the whispered conversation that takes place between the two.

"Hey Hermione," says Potter. His tone is hopeful, but rather subdued. Draco wonders if something happened between them…

"Oh hi, Harry. Sorry I've been so busy lately. I'm sure you are too. Anyway, I have to go meet Ron." She doesn't make eye contact with him and begins hurriedly packing the things she'd just unpacked from her bag.

"But you just got here," Potter points out, sounding disappointed.

"Yeah, I'll just . . . I'll see you later." And then she's gone.

Draco can't deny that he feels . . . upset on behalf of Potter, for some reason.

Before he can think about what he's doing, he's standing up and walking towards Potter himself. He sits down near where Potter had been studying and pulls out books of his own. He discretely glances at the books Harry has spread out over the table before the other boy returns. There are titles including _The Realities of Mythological Creatures_, _A Complete Guide to Dragons, _and _Your Survival Guide for Encountering Dangerous Creatures in the Wild_.

Potter sits back down and doesn't seem to notice Draco, who amusedly watches the other boy from a mere few feet away now.

"_Dragons._ There must be a spell or _something_," Potter mutters as he flips through a book while rubbing his temple tiredly.

"What about dragons?" Draco asks nonchalantly.

It takes great restraint for Draco to keep a mockingly innocent smile plastered on his face when all he really wants to do is burst out laughing at the way Potter jumps in the air in response to his surprise inquiry.

"Merlin! When did you—? What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Potter exclaims with a hand on his chest, as if recovering from a great blow. While Malfoy usually relishes more malicious actions, he finds that this has given him just as much satisfaction.

Draco doesn't respond to Potter's questions, instead choosing to gesture to the books he's reading. "So, can I guess that your first task is somehow dragon-related? I can't think of any classes you're taking that would have you so frantically studying dragons."

Potter's jaw drops, as if he's shocked that Draco could logically reach such an accurate conclusion. Draco raises his eyebrows patronizingly. "I'm not stupid, Potter. I'm one of the top wizards in our year, _as well_ as an observant Slytherin. Don't underestimate me."

Draco smirks as Potter is unable to form a coherent reply. He stands up and reaches over Harry's shoulder to more closely examine all of the books Potter has assembled. "These won't help you," he murmurs quietly.

He confidently moves to a shelf that's, conveniently, right in front of Potter and takes great pleasure in plucking a book out and placing it in front of Potter. As he begins walking away, he says, "Page 358 should help you," and leaves his . . . _rival_ . . . to figure the rest out on his own.

A freezing spell. With a great deal of skill and power, it could affect even a dragon.


	4. Chapter 4: You Deserve Better

_Not a single drop of my self-worth depends on your acceptance._

_-Unknown _

Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor all look grim as they gather around Barty Crouch Sr., who holds a small pouch in his hands. It's the day of the first task, and everyone seems to have figured out that they'll be fighting dragons. At least, Harry assumes they have, since none of his fellow Champions seemed shocked to hear one of the judges, Ludo Bagman, announce what the first task entails.

Harry isn't surprised when _he's_ the one stuck with the Hungarian Horntail, the fiercest dragon of all. The small figure of the dragon prowls predatorily in his hand as he sits in the Champions' Tent. He just hopes that all the spells he's practiced will be effective against it. _And especially Malfoy's, if it comes to that._

He sits in the Champions' tent while the others face their dragons. Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor leave him one by one. He hears the crowd roar in support for each of them until there's only Harry left to walk out. Screams from the crowds are the only things he hears as he waits. _They all find this entertaining,_ he realizes sickeningly.

Each of them managed to successfully return with a golden egg, but they all looked much worse for the wear. He's never seen Fleur in such a disarray, with her hair frazzled, her clothes torn in several places, and smelling burnt. As she turned around, he noticed with horror that she had a huge patch of severe-looking burns on her back. Cedric staggered back into the tent after facing his dragon and barely had enough time to set his golden egg on the floor before collapsing wordlessly onto the infirmary bed Madame Pomfrey led him towards. Viktor appears to be in the best shape yet, but even he is exhausted, bloody, and bruised as he arrives back in the tent. He claps Harry on the shoulder and wishes him good luck before being dragged to a bed and passing out as well.

_Oh Merlin, It's my turn now._ Harry stumbles forward but he can't seem to remember any of the spells he had planned on using. He knows there were some important things about these dragons that he'd found during his research. He knows that he had a plan for how to accomplish this task, but his mind is blank. He knows so many things, but he can't seem to recall exactly what those things are. At that moment, all he knows and all he can focus on is the horrific fact that there is a living, breathing (_fire-_breathing) dragon out there. And he has to face it.

Cheers greet him as he enters the arena where the Hungarian Horntail awaits. Despite having seen a miniature representation of the dragon only an hour or so ago, Harry still feels his stomach plummet as he gazes at the real beast: it's about fifty feet long with menacing amber eyes, large spines protruding from its back all the way down to the sharp tip of its tail, and sharp black scales covering its entire body like armor. Thankfully, it's chained up. But Harry realizes that after he takes a few steps closer to it, it could easily reach him with its tail, and its fire could reach him anywhere in the arena. And of course, the nest with the golden egg is right next to the dragon. So he's going to have to go over there at some point in order to complete this deadly task. At least, _probably._

He raises his wand and casts a quick _Accio_ to see if, just possibly, someone overlooked that little loophole. But of course, it doesn't work.

By now, the Horntail has noticed his presence and spreads its wings out, casting a shadow over Harry. _Great. Just great_. She moves her body to further block her precious eggs from his sight and snarls at him warningly as she makes eye contact with him.

Harry directs his wand at the dragon. "_Stupify!_" The spell hits the Horntail's chest harmlessly and seems to make the dragon even angrier. Its teeth are easily visible as it lets out another snarl.

He casts a _Confringo_ and _Petrificus Totalus_, also to no avail. The spells seem to soak into her scales ineffectually, and the dragon's eyes become dialated. The mother dragon creeps closer to him and lets out an ear-splitting roar.

_All that research, and yet everything's falling apart,_ Harry thinks to himself in frustration. _I need to aim for her eyes._

Suddenly, the dragon's spiked tail sweeps towards him. Harry barely has enough time to dive out of the way and avoid being sliced in half. The tip of her tail nicks him and leaves a stinging cut on his shoulder.

The rock that he is hiding behind grows hot as fire surrounds him on all sides. As quick as it came, it was gone. But then her tail slams into the rock, and it starts to crumble. Harry dashes behind another rock, holding his shoulder in place as warm blood covers his hand.

_I'm not sure how much longer I can hold this up for. I should use Malfoy's spell. But what is it again? I can't… I don't remember..._

He looks at the nest only a few meters away from him. Another swipe from the tail misses him by an inch, and in that moment he decides to just make a run for it. _Please work_. He silently casts a corporeal Patronus to distract the Horntail. As the stag races to the mother dragon, he tries to stealthily sprint to the nest behind her.

But just as he reaches the middle of the nest, and as he was about to bend down and snatch the golden egg, he feels a strange warmth on the back of his neck. He whirls around just in time to see a huge, searing column of flames pouring out of the dragon's mouth straight towards him.

* * *

**Five Days Ago**

_Harry surprisingly doesn't mind Malfoy's company. In fact, the other boy's presence is calming him down a bit. Making him stop worrying, at least for now, about the dragon he will soon have to face. And he never realized how _witty _Malfoy is. He easily guesses why Harry's researching dragons. But not only does he figure that out, he also seems to instantly know how to help._

_Malfoy drops a book in front of Harry before leaving the library, and Harry has to remind himself that he shouldn't be disappointed to see his rival go. _

_He must admit, he's impressed when he opens the book Malfoy had left in front of him to page 358, as he'd been instructed, and sees instructions for casting a powerful freezing spell that works against magical creatures, even ones that are typically magic-resistant. The page is covered by an depiction of a large slab of ice sticking out in every way. On the side of the page was a strong warning: _If very powerful magic is not used, this spell can leave the user frozen instead. _Would he be powerful enough to use such a strong spell? Seeing as how Harry's never heard of it before, he's not sure what the answer is. And he can't exactly ask Hermione, not while she appears to be so determined to ignore him._

_Malfoy had seemed determined to be helpful. Maybe _too _helpful? He could just be trying to sabotage Harry. But after he'd given Harry the book, he'd apologized for that awful note he'd made in Potions. Well, as much of an apology as he would ever get from Malfoy. Harry doesn't think Malfoy has ever apologized to him for _anything _before. He'd certainly never sounded as serious as he he did with those sorrowful words on his lips._

_Harry looks back at the spell. _Glacius Tria, _it's called._

* * *

Draco had been watching Potter attempt to fight the Hungarian Horntail, and his expression could not be called anything short of _horrified_. He had hand-delivered Potter the _perfect_ bloody spell, damnit! Why wasn't the stubborn Gryffindor using it?

He was tempted to march down to that dragon and use _Glacius Tria_ himself, but he suspected that that might not go down particularly well with the officials running the competition. So Draco had watched as all of Potter's mediocre curses bounced off the dragon harmlessly. He had clenched his fists when the idiot was nearly killed by his opponent's spiked tail. The stubborn Gryffindor was already injured and _still_ he didn't use the spell. Dracoe raised his eyebrows in disbelief as Potter apparently gave up fighting the dragon and just ran to the mother's nest while she was merely momentarily distracted by the Patronus Potter had cast.

_Maybe my father really will win our bet_, Draco had thought with dread.

But then something spectacular happened. Right as the Horntail was about to burn Potter to a crisp, the wizard casts _Glacius Tria._ Draco gasps as he feels some of his strength drain away rapidly.

Mist blankets the arena for a few seconds. The audience is silence-stricken for a moment. Everyone watches in awe as the fire freezes mere inches away from Potter. The ice spreads, freezing the whole column of fire and creeps up the dragon whose gaping jaws it came from. Spiked ice soon covers the huge beast, trapping it in a glacier of ice.

Roars erupt. People leap to their feet to make their approval for Potter seen and heard.

The-Boy-Who-Lived picks up his golden egg and raises it triumphantly for the crowd to see.

Draco just rolls his eyes. _Finally._

* * *

Harry finds himself in the Champions' Tent once more, this time with a golden egg clutched close to his chest. He's not in nearly as bad shape as the others, and for that, he's grateful.

But then again, he would've preferred the excuse to lie in bed if it meant he wouldn't have to talk to all these reporters.

Rita Skeeter won't leave him alone, and it seems like she twists everything he says into merely a semblance of the truth. For example, he said, "I forgot about the spell until the dragon was about to scorch me!"

She wrote that down as "The Boy-Who-Lived Overcomes Forgetfulness Curse to Defeat Terrifying Beast."

Harry tried interjecting with "No, no, no! No one cursed me. I _knew_ about the spell. I just forgot exactly what it was until the moment when I truly needed it!"

The _Daily Prophet_ writer ignored him and began verbally attacking Cedric, while yet another reporter eagerly leapt on Harry. _I'm never going to get out of here,_ Harry thinks to himself glumly.

As he answers questions on autopilot ("No, I didn't really think the _Accio _would work. Yes, I have great respect for my competitors," and so forth), he notices Ron and Hermione peeking into the tent from just outside. And he thinks he sees platinum blond hair somewhere further away.

Eventually, the reporters seem to notice his distraction and accept that they've gotten as much useful information as they're going to get from him. As they trickle away, so do the other Champions and officials until it's just Harry left.

As Harry meticulously gathers and organizes his things, he notices Hermione and Ron elbowing each other in his peripheral vision, probably arguing about whether they should go in and try to talk to him. Though Harry doesn't particularly want to talk to either of them, he decides to end their suffering by calling, "You guys can come in. You might as well say whatever it is that you want to say."

Harry's two (_former?_) best friends creep into the tent sheepishly. "Hi Harry," says Hermione, "and congratulations on defeating the Horntail. That spell you used at the end was really quite impressive."

Compliments on spellwork aren't common from Hermione, so Harry knows that he should really be pleased with what she's offering him. _She's trying._ But it's hard for him to focus on that rather than the fact that his friends haven't spoken to him in weeks despite Harry not having done _anything wrong._

"Thanks Hermione," Harry says softly. It's easier to look at her than it is to look at Ron. So he chooses to focus on her hopeful eyes.

"Yeah, uh, good job, mate," interjects Ron gruffly.

"Oh, so we're speaking again, are we?" Harry asks, unable to keep the spite out of his voice.

"That may have been a bit hasty on my—""

"You think? Ron, you've been my best friend for four years. And you cut me off a few weeks ago like all of that meant _nothing _to you." Harry feels his hands start to tremble with the rage that he's trying to push down

Hermione reaches out and puts a hand on Harry's arm. "Harry, you know Ron didn't mean for it to be like that."

"I'd like to hear _Ron_ explain what he meant for it to be like," says Harry, his voice as cold and unforgiving as steel.

"I was jealous of you, for always getting the attention. And… I thought maybe you'd abandon us if we didn't leave you first. You're getting so famous, there are loads of other people you could be friends with." Ron sounds exhausted, like he's been suffering a lot of sleepless nights lately.

Harry finally shifts his gaze to look at Ron. He looks as exhausted as he sounds, with bags under his eyes. They're red-rimmed and bloodshot. A pang goes through Harry's heart as he wonders whether Ron's been kept up at night because of regretful thoughts about him.

"You guys know me. You _know_ I've never wanted attention, let alone _fame_. In fact, I've always wanted to be _normal_. And when I told you that I didn't do this on purpose, there's _no reason_ that I've _ever_ given you not to believe me! I have been suffering alone, dealing with all of this stress and pressure for _weeks_—" Harry feels his voice break, whether with anger or sadness or frustration or something else entirely, he can't tell— "and you haven't been there. And _Hermione_, why did you go along with Ron?" Harry feels his eyes begin to water as he turns his gaze back to her once more.

"I—I—Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry I haven't been there for you!" Her hands go flying to her mouth and he hears her release a single, strangled sob as tearlines streak her face.

"You deserve better best friends than us," Ron says glumly, surprising Harry.

"I just need to be able to rely on my friends to _trust me_," Harry whispers.

"I know we have to earn _your_ trust back first, but we'll do our best, Harry. I know now that I never should've doubted you. We'll be here for you, whenever you need us."

Hermione nods emphatically in agreement with Ron and hesitates for a moment, before embracing Harry and almost knocking him off his feet with the force of it.

He hasn't forgiven them yet, but he gets the feeling that he will. And it's so nice to have them back here, the three of them together the way they have been for years, that Harry nods at Ron. The ginger gets the hint and wraps his arms around Harry and Hermione.

They all shed more than a few tears.

* * *

Ron and Hermione leave, and Harry tells them he'll catch up soon. First, he suspects he needs to talk to a certain Slytherin.

Harry starts walking out of the tent when he's suddenly being shoved against the nearby wall of the spectator seating area. He grins up at Draco Malfoy and smirks. "Getting a little handsy, Draco?"

He can't stop himself from giggling at Draco's reaction. The Slytherin's eyes had bulged before he'd quickly looked away from Harry and loosened his grip on him. Harry thinks he even spots a blush favoring Draco's usually-pale cheeks.

_Why did / say that though? _Harry wonders. _Malfoy and I have never had that kind of joking relationship._

"I just wanted to _congratulate _you," Draco began, as though he found the words difficult to get out, "for your success today. You got the highest score after using the spell I gave you."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "_Okay_... then why are you shoving me against a wall as if I've done something wrong?"

Draco releases Harry. "I just wanted you to know that I don't owe you anything now. You were kind to me after the _incident_, and I've made up for that small act and my own earlier cruelty when I made that note in Potions. I gave you the _Glacius Tria_ spell . . . and, unbeknownst to you or anyone else, I cast a spell lending you some of my magical strength before the task started today."

For a brief moment, Harry feels his heart drop. Though he's not sure why Draco's words disappoint him so immensely, he can't help but feel . . . let down, in some way. _I should be glad that all this weirdness between us is over,_ Harry reminds himself.

But as Draco strides away from Harry, he can't help wishing that he'd stayed.

* * *

Later that night, after celebrating his performance in the first task with his fellow Gryffindors and hearing the shrill screeching sounds released by the golden egg when he opened it, Harry finds himself holding his journal. It had been a little while since he'd last opened it.

_I'm not sure whether I even want to know who I'm talking to. Who it is that asks all these questions and seems to care so much about my answers. There's no way they really want to help me. They probably just pity me and think I'm some weak wizard who's incapable of taking care of myself. But if they find out that I'm the bloody _Boy-Who-Lived_, they'll think I'm even more pathetic. Everyone would mock me and call my parents' sacrifice pointless. Maybe it was pointless…_

With a heavy sigh, Harry runs a hand through his messy hair in frustration and flips open his journal with the other. His partner's last answer and question awaits him: **I will help you in whatever ways I can. I will do whatever you will let me. How are you feeling?**

Harry's face scrunches up in confusion. _Why is he asking questions like this rather than trying to figure out who I am?_

He tentatively picks up his quill and answers: **I am feeling stressed because I have a lot going on. But I think I have my friends back, so I feel less alone. **Harry pauses in his response as an idea comes to him. It's a gamble, but it's worth a shot. **Do you care so much about helping me because you had a similar childhood?**

By the time the response appears, Harry had almost given up for the night. His eyelids feel so heavy that sleep embraces him forcefully right after he reads a single word: **Yes. **


	5. Chapter 5: Oh-So-Intimidating Professor

_Oh please, don't pretend that you of all people actually care._

_-R.M._

Harry hadn't contemplated the idea that the golden egg he'd gotten from the first task would be a clue for the second one. But once Hermione suggested it at breakfast the next day, it was all he could do to refrain from dashing back to the Gryffindor boys dormitory and beginning his investigation into the idea immediately. After how close of a call his encounter with the dragon had been, Harry didn't want to head into the second task unprepared.

So he'd forced himself to wait until he had a gap in his schedule in between classes shortly after lunch. Now, Harry stands alone next to his bed with his hard-won prize clutched in his hand. What would it reveal to him? He holds it close to his eyes and scrutinizes its surface carefully. There don't appear to be any secret, ultra-important, next-task-revealing messages encoded on its sleek surface.

Harry then turns his attention to the top of the egg, where he sees what appear to be hinges. He fumbles with them for a minute, his fingers scrambling to figure out how to unlatch them. Finally, he pushes the clasps at the top of the egg together and the egg opens suddenly, revealing an empty interior, to Harry's surprise.

The sound it emits is a cacophony of high-pitched screams. It's so startling that Harry drops the egg and covers his ears reflexively. He then darts to the ground and quickly closes the egg in the opposite fashion of how he'd opened it.

'_How is _that _supposed to tell me _anything _about the next task?'_

Harry sighs and puts the egg in his trunk disappointedly.

* * *

Sitting in Potions class, Harry can't seem to focus on the pain-relieving potion instructions that Snape is going over. He'll figure it out later, through trial-and-error, which is always his _favorite_ method of figuring anything out.

"Potter! How finely must you chop the frog-legs?" Harry almost jumps out of his skin as the greasy-haired professor suddenly questions him.

"I—I don't know, Professor," Harry stammers.

Snape rolls his eyes. "Do not waste space in my classroom if you do not intend to contribute anything to it," he snaps at Harry as he marches to the chalkboard at the front of the room. "The frog legs must be chopped carefully into fine pieces so that the potion will maintain its smooth texture when the frog legs are mixed in. Draco! Please summarize the next three steps."

Draco smirks at Harry and easily recounts, "The next ingredient is an eye of newt, which must be crushed inside the cauldron. After that, a sprig of peppermint needs to be ground into a pulp before it's stirred into the potion. The last ingredient that needs to be added before the potion must simmer for exactly twelve hours is a dragon talon that's been crushed into a powder."

"Very good, Draco," Snape drawls. He then turns to the chalkboard and writes out all of the ingredients that must be added and how they must be prepared. "Everyone must complete all of these steps before they leave my class today. Get to work. Especially you, Potter!"

Harry had been absentmindedly staring at his journal while all of this had been going on, and he glances up when he hears his name again. And that's when he notices something odd and totally unexpected: the handwriting in his journal looks _very_ similar to the handwriting on the board. There's a journal with Snape's name on it on his desk. But it couldn't be possible that _Snape_ is the person Harry's been talking to.

The most recent question that . . . _definitely-not-Snape_ . . . had asked him was **What is your family's reason for mistreating you?** If Harry answers this question, he'll have to explain that he's an orphan, that the Dursleys are muggles who don't understand magic and fear what he can do with it. It wouldn't be the impossible task for _definitely-not-Snape_ to put two-and-two together at that point. There are only so many orphans at Hogwarts, let alone those with muggle foster parents who could be abusive.

Harry flips back through his conversation with _definitely-not-Snape_. He keeps glancing from _definitely-not-Snape_'s handwriting to the handwriting on the board. He thinks about all the other handwriting he's seen: Hermione's perfectly neat, small letters; Ron's sloppy and huge ones; and even Neville, his current desk partner, has vastly different, bubbly writing. Snape's looping cursive seems unique. . . .

But the person Harry's been talking to has been asking him questions about his family, questions that Harry has been _answering honestly. _And rather than mocking him, this person has seemed genuinely _concerned_ for him. Snape could _never_ be like that, not in Harry's wildest dreams.

This strikingly similar handwriting is, however, Harry's only real lead to the identity of his partner. If he doesn't correctly guess that it's Snape, then Harry will have to answer the question that would almost certainly lead them directly to his identity.

With great reluctance and dread, Harry goes back to the page in his journal where he and _maybe-somehow-Snape _had left off. Not sure whether he wants to be right or not, he writes **Are you Severus Snape?**

Nothing happens for a moment. But then the journal flashes blue, and Harry hastily covers it with his potions textbook. He glances around and luckily sees that it doesn't seem like anyone, not even Snape, had noticed.

Harry's mind is still racing with thoughts of _How can it be Snape? He's not like that! But then again, maybe nothing he said was sincere, and he really was just trying to win the competition. Ugh, how could I be so foolish as to reveal so much! _

It's nearly the end of the class when Snape finally sits at his desk and opens his journal. Harry notices Snape reaching for it out of the corner of his eye and does his best not to seem interested.

A loud _thwack _draws the entire class's attention to Snape. Harry can't stop himself from giggling as he sees that the oh-so-intimidating professor has thrown his journal to the ground. _Just like Adrian,_ Harry thought humorously.

Apparently Harry's giggles were louder and more obvious than he'd thought, because Snape's attention has snapped to him with a laser-focus. "Something _funny_, Potter?" he inquires with a definitive air of malice.

Harry quickly sobers up and is about to say that nothing is funny when Snape holds up a hand. "Don't bother answering. Class is dismissed. You should've all had sufficient time to finish your potions."

The cauldron sitting in front of Harry is mournfully empty. All of his ingredients untouched. He groans inwardly but gathers his things quickly without properly putting anything back in his bag and flees Snape's classroom.

In the hallway right outside, Harry realizes that he's _definitely_ carrying way too many things in his arms. Right on cue, he feels a couple items slip from his grip. Harry carefully crouches and starts moving everything from his arms into his bag. That's when he notices Hermione rush over to help. But of course, the first thing she picks up from the floor is his journal. He can see the helpless curiosity on her face. She starts to open it, and he hastily snatches it from her hands. "Thanks, Hermione," he says quickly.

She looks at him strangely and only nods before walking off, presumably to her next class.

* * *

Later that day at lunch, Harry is sitting with Ron and Hermione at their usual spot in the Great Hall. It's his first time sitting with them since Ron basically excommunicated him from the friend group. To his relief, they both seem genuinely thrilled to have him back with them.

"How did you find that spell, anyway, Harry? The _Glacius Tria _that you used to freeze the dragon?" Harry's glad that Hermione just seems to be asking out of friendly curiosity, rather than the hostile interrogation he'd half-expected. It might take some time for him to truly trust his friends the way he had before, but every little friendly action reassures him that he will get there.

"Surprisingly, it was Draco Malfoy who gave me the spell when he saw me doing research on dragons in the library," Harry responds good-naturedly.

Ron and Hermione both look at each other and then at Harry. Their faces are the picture of confusion: raised eyebrows, slightly gaped mouths, and flushed cheeks.

"_Draco Malfoy_?" is all Ron can sputter out.

"Why would you trust anything he told you?" asks Hermione, this time with the hostility he'd been grateful to hear absent only a moment before.

"You guys weren't around. I took what help I could get," Harry says back to them coldly.

They must see in his face that he still feels betrayed and hasn't entirely forgiven them for their recent actions, because Hermione quickly backtracks, "You're absolutely right, Harry. I'm sorry it wasn't us giving you that spell."

Ron bites his lip and doesn't say anything, but he nods in apparent agreement.

Harry had been about to pull out his journal and catch them up on everything that's been going on with it. Before all of this drama with his friends, he wouldn't have even hesitated. He would've been conversing with them about what to do every step of the way.

But now, he isn't so sure he wants to tell them anything about the journal at all. Harry doesn't need to tell them anything more about the surprisingly nice moments he's shared with Draco lately. He doesn't need to tell them that _Malfoy_ is now Draco in his head. He doesn't need to tell them that he accidentally shared incredibly personal information with _Snape_ of all people. Harry can and will figure all of this out on his own.

* * *

Draco smirks triumphantly as his journal turns blue, and the pages flip to a new blank section. He wonders who his third partner _*cough cough* victim *cough cough* _will be. It's not that he's cocky. Draco just knows himself and everyone else, and he knows that no one here would be a match for his investigative and deduction skills.

After all, his style is like no other.

On the new page, he sees a basic message awaiting him: **Hi. What school are you a part of?**

Draco picks up his elaborately decorated quill and writes, **Hogwarts, obvi. It's, like, the best school ever. What about you?**

Or rather, Draco's style is nothing like what anyone would expect it to be. Which is precisely the point.

* * *

"Wait, so you can communicate with past partners in your journal, even after that round is over?" Harry asks Ron.

"Yep. Is Adrian trying to talk to you about Quidditch?" the redhead inquires jealously.

"Erm—yeah."'

"Well, I'll see you later, Harry. I've gotta go meet Luna Lovegood. She wanted to talk to me about something."

"Sounds good, Ron."

After Ron leaves, Harry opens his journal again. He's already talking to someone new, someone who seems incredibly different from those he's spoken with so far. Plus, Snape won't leave him alone.

Speaking of Snape, he hasn't seemed to accept defeat. There's another message from him, this one saying: **You know who I am, so will you tell me who you are now? I could help you if I knew who you are. You don't have to be alone. **

The idea of Snape helping him is so laughable that Harry doesn't have any clue how to respond. So he just decides to say **Leave me alone. The game is over. **

After that, he flips forward to his new conversation. His partner had just said **Hogwarts, obvi. It's, like, the best school ever. What about you?**

Who on earth could this _possibly _be? Harry can't think of anyone who talks like that. Maybe a Hufflepuff? It's probably a Hufflepuff.

Shrugging, he responds **I'm also from Hogwarts. What House are you in?**

The reply arrives quickly. **I'm in Slytherin! It's weird. This whole contest is weird. I just want to get to know new people. So, tell me the thing that makes you happiest.**

Harry's face scrunches in confusion. First of all, this _Slytherin_ does not seem like a Slytherin _at all._ Plus, they're asking weird irrelevant questions, just like Snape. And that wasn't even phrased as a question! How the bloody hell was the journal letting them get away with that?

He puts his head down on the table. '_I give up._ _Well, not really. But I want to.'_

* * *

Severus has been brooding for the past few days. Ever since this mystery student figured out his identity and stopped talking to him, he's felt like more of a failure than he has since the days of the Marauders. He keeps reaching out to the student, trying to express that he's here and wants to help. But the student has so far ignored all of his good-willed attempts.

'_Should I go to Dumbledore with this? Surely he would be able to track down the student and help.'_ But Severus dismisses the thought. The student would never trust him if he were to do that. No, the student knows where he is. If he truly needs help, he knows that Severus is offering it.

'_But I'll keep reaching out to remind him.'_

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all sitting around a large table in the library. He thought he'd be done spending time in the library for a while, but Hermione had suggested they all accompany her as she searched for some books. Ron had quickly said he thought that sounded like a "lovely" idea. So then Harry reluctantly agreed to go as well.

Luckily, they're not sitting at the table where Harry used to spend many hours by himself. But the whole library now reminds him of the loneliness he had felt during that time. He tries to push those feelings down and just focus on the here and now. But it's difficult for him to pay attention to what Ron and Hermione are talking about.

"Harry, mate, are you alright?" asks Ron suddenly.

Harry snaps back to reality and nods quickly. "I'm good. I'm just glad to spend time with you guys again."

"We really did miss you, Harry," says Hermione softly. "By the way, do you have any idea what the second task is yet? We didn't help you with the first one, but we want to help you with this one."

Harry smiles, and it's a genuine smile that feels blindingly bright to him. "I haven't figured it out yet. But I'd love your help. The golden egg opens, but there's nothing inside it. It just releases a horrible screaming sound."

Hermione looks thoughtful. Ron just looks taken aback. '_That's more like it. This is how things are supposed to be between all of us.'_

After a moment, Hermione says, "I'll see if I can come up with anything! For now, let's go back to the common room! I have everything I need, and the couches in there are so much more comfortable than these chairs."

On their way out of the library, Harry notices Draco looking at them. He quickly glances away, and Harry wonders if perhaps he'd imagined the understanding he'd seen when their eyes had briefly met.

* * *

Draco said he'd paid whatever debt he may have owed Potter. But it seems his conscience has decided that he's not done with the Gryffindor after all. At least, that must be why he keeps finding himself doing things like eavesdropping on Harry's conversation with Ron and Hermione.

There's certainly no other reason he should care. He's never cared before.

The next thing Draco knows, he's making direct eye contact with Potter. _Bloody hell._ They must have gotten up to leave while he was lost in his own thoughts like an idiot. He quickly tears his gaze away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Potter turn and leave with his friends. Draco lets out a sigh and sits down at a table in the corner of the room. He pulls out his journal. Over the past few days, he's been having _quite_ the conversation with an as-of-yet unknown someone.

Pretending to be someone silly and light-hearted amuses him. But more importantly, it will ensure that this other person begins to trust him and confide in him. Sooner or later, Draco will be able to use said trust to figure out this person's identity.


	6. Chapter 6: Dance with Me

"_Those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."_

_-Friedrich Nietzsche_

"Attention, everyone!" Dumbledore calls out as he stands before the assembled students of all three magical schools. The chatter in the Great Hall quickly dies down to an expectant silence. "As you may recall, one of our favored traditions during the years of Triwizard Tournaments is the Yule Ball. This year, that tradition will continue! Hogwarts students, you will all recieve dancing instructions from your heads of houses. Champions, be sure that you select appropriate companions to accompany you. The Yule Ball shall be a celebration that we all enjoy together as we put aside our competitions for the night!"

Harry sighs. "I guess that means I _have_ to go."

"We'll go with you, _won't_ _we_, Ronald?" Hermione says supportively while elbowing Ron.

"Oh Merlin, but I don't have any dress robes," laments Ron. Hermione glares at him, and he quickly corrects himself by adding, "But I'm sure me mum can find something. Of course we'll be there with you, Harry."

As Harry starts to leave the Great Hall with his friends, he's stopped by a hand on his shoulder. "Harry," says Dumbledore gently.

He turns to face the headmaster, who gestures for Harry to follow him to a more private spot in the room.

"Are you doing alright, Harry?"

"It's been difficult, Professor, but I'm getting through this," Harry responds, grateful for Dumbledore's concern.

"I know you are, my boy. I'm very proud of you."

* * *

"So, I assume the Purebloods in the room are already aware of dancing etiquette," Severus drawls as he walks around the room. Most of the young Slytherin men and women gathered nod and smirk. _The Purebloods_. Students whose parents had raised them with moments like this at the front of their minds. Severus both loathes and admires their preparedness.

"Some of you have, however," he continues as he eyes the less confident-looking Slytherins, "not been so fortunate. But that is a matter easily corrected. Draco, if you would, please select a partner and begin the demonstration."

With that, the young Malfoy offers a hand to Daphne Greengrass. The brunette daintily accepts and follows him towards the center of the room. Severus snaps his fingers, and a traditional waltz melody begins to play.

The young couple dances with the precision that comes from years of practice. Severus notes that while their dance is beautiful, it seems cold, as if there is a certain distance that must be kept between the partners. He supposed that such careful distances are habitual amongst Slytherins.

His eye is then caught by a few younger students snickering, presumably because they assume he can't see them. _The blatant disrespect. How unbefitting a Slytherin. _

Within a brief moment, Severus simultaneously silences the music and crosses the room to stand directly in front of the aforementioned offenders.

"You are _Slytherins_!" he hisses. "Do you wish to make fools of yourselves, and the entire Slytherin House by association, at the upcoming Yule Ball?"

The three young boys who had been giggling now look mortified. "No, Professor," they mumble.

"Good," he says slowly, while backing away from them. "I shall see you in detention if you change your minds." Severus then makes it clear that he's addressing the entire group now by sweeping out an arm to gesture to everyone. "Now, I would like to see those of you who are experienced dancers pair up with those who are not. Ballroom dancing is a _serious matter_," he insists. "Now get to work!"

Malfoy and Daphne eagerly choose partners from amongst the inexperienced students, who are mostly muggleborns and the rare halfblood. The other Purebloods soon follow their example. Severus crosses his arm and turns the music back on to watch proudly as his Slytherins perfect the art of dancing.

* * *

Upon first hearing of the Yule Ball, Hermione had immediately expected to attend it with either Ron or Harry. But neither of them has asked her, and she keeps finding herself running into a certain Durmstrang student whose very presence makes her feel so dizzy that she has to force herself to come up with intelligent words to say to him.

This Durmstrang student would be Viktor Krum, of course.

The first time they ran into each other alone was in the hallway one evening. Hermione had been studying in the library and nearly tripped him when she exited the room right as he had been walking by it. She had expected him to just keep walking, _maybe_ after murmuring a quick apology if he was in a good mood.

But he had surprised her. After recovering his balance. Viktor had completely stopped in his tracks, taken her hand, and kissed it. She'd blushed madly, which no guy had _ever_ made her do before. He had looked her directly in the eyes, with his face hovering above her hand, and said in a _wonderful_ accent, "I apologize most sincerely for nearly trampling you, Miss…?"

He had clearly been waiting for her last name, so Hermione had stammered out, "Granger!" Hopefully she sounded smoother than she suspected she did…

"Miss Granger," Viktor repeated back to her, his voice pronouncing her name so carefully and elegantly that she felt slightly faint. He offered to walk her back to the Gryffindor dormitories, and she felt like she was living in a dream as she accepted.

She didn't expect to enjoy the walk back, and every encounter she's had with him since then, nearly as much as she did. But Viktor was funny, charming, clever, and above all . . . he seemed to think she was all of those things too.

Harry had been planning on asking Hermione to the Yule Ball, but that idea quickly dissipates as he, Hermione, and Ron walk into the library for an evening study session about a week before the Yule Ball.

Their usual table is covered with rose petals, violins and harps float in the air nearby and play beautiful melodies, and a quill writes in the air with big red letters, **Yule Ball?** And then Viktor walks out from behind the bookshelf where he'd probably been waiting and watching Hermione's reaction."Miss Granger, will you give me the honor of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?" he asks while smiling at her.

The girl in question gasps and goes over to him. "I suppose I will," she says with the air of someone trying to sound cool and collected while they're inwardly freaking out. A distinct blush graces her cheeks, but her smile reveals the genuine thrill she feels.

While he's disappointed that he now has no idea who he'll take to the ball himself, Harry's glad that Hermione will get to have an amazing night. He looks at Ron, about to make a joking remark, when he sees that Ron's reaction does not at all mirror his own. Instead of appearing happy for Hermione, Ron looks . . . defeated, like seeing Hermione and VIktor together hurts him somehow. His face is pale but stony as he turns around and leaves the library as quickly as he can without running. _Does Ron like Hermione? _Harry can't help but wonder.

Hermione turns from Viktor to Harry. "Where did Ron go?" she asks in confusion.

Harry gives her a smile that he hopes is reassuring. "I think he forgot something in the Common Room."

Hermione's smile falters, but Viktor squeezes her hand. At that moment, Harry realizes that his friend desires love as much as anyone, despite the way she's often acted as though she would be content to have books as her only companions for the rest of her life.

* * *

After seeing _Hermione_ with Viktor, of all people, he can't help but feel a burning rage in his heart. It's easier to focus on the rage, at least, than the crushing disappointment. Of course someone like Viktor would want a pretty girl like Hermione, even though she couldn't care less about Quidditch. He would never look twice at Ron. He's just an average redhead. Just another Quidditch fan. There's nothing special about him.

As he strides out of the library, Ron sees Fleur Delacour standing nearby, giggling with a group of Beauxbatons girls. _Hermione gets Viktor, and there's nothing special about her. Why shouldn't I get someone incredible like that?_

And Fleur is certainly someone incredible. As much as Ron has spent years admiring Viktor's perfectly chiseled face and unmatched talent on the Quidditch field, he can't deny the instant attraction he'd felt to Fleur the first time he saw her in the Great Hall.

So, with uncharacteristic boldness, Ron walks right up to the Beauxbatons girls and interrupts them. "Sorry, but Fleur, would you want to go the Yule Ball with me?"

She smiles kindly at him. "You are cute, and I appreciate you thinking of me. But I already have a date."

Ron's confidence fades away. He feels his ears and cheeks burn with shame as he awkwardly smiles back. When she and her friends resume talking, having moved on from him as quickly as yesterday's dinner, he quickly flees the scene.

The thought of Viktor and Hermione continues to plague his mind with jealousy and resentment, though he tries not to let it consume him.

* * *

By the evening of the ball, Harry and Ron had ended up asking the Patil twins to go with them. Ron, adorned in his atrociously outdated dress robes. Harry, wearing simple bottle green dress robes. Padma and Parvati are draped in robes of bright turquoise and shocking pink, respectively.

Harry takes Parvati Patil with him to meet the other Champions, who are lining up with their chosen partners outside the ballroom. Ron goes inside the ballroom with Padma. Neither Harry nor Ron is thrilled about their choice of partner, as they hardly know the Patils. But Parvati, at least, seems proud to be accompanying a Champion to the ball. He has a sinking feeling, though, that he's not the right person to live up to her expectations. _I wish that I could give her the evening she wants,_ he thinks to himself glumly.

The Champions are forced to process into the ballroom and begin the dancing, to Harry's horror. Parvati is able to guide him through it, but he sees her grow more and more visibly frustrated until finally he guides her off the dance floor after just a few songs. Ron and Padma meet them there.

"I think we should just take a break," Harry says to the others.

Padma rolls her eyes, clearly already past expecting to enjoy the night. "I'll get us some punch," she says and stalks away. Parvati sits down next to Harry, with a smile, albeit one that's growing more strained by the minute, still on her face.

* * *

From the other side of the room, Draco eyes the group. He's at the Yule Ball dancing with Daphne again. Not that he really cares for her presence; she was just the most convenient choice of a partner. He certainly thinks she'll enjoy the fun task he's about to assign her at least. "Daphne, would you like to do something more exciting than standing here pretending to enjoy our seventh dance of the night?"

The blue-eyed girl smirks at him, clearly intrigued by his proposal already. "What did you have in mind?"

The next thing Daphne knows, she's striding across the dance floor to find the Patil twins. They have _so much_ to talk about. And Ron, well. Draco watches from a distance as a very satisfying chain of events unfolds: Daphne easily lures the Patil girls away from Harry and Ron, the trio then corners Fleur Delacour's date over by the refreshments so that she's left alone, Draco nudges the nearby Fleur in Ron's direction, and then suddenly Harry is all alone.

Draco suavely takes advantage of the Gryffindor's freedom to stealthily maneuver his way behind him and place a hand on his shoulder. "How does the Boy-Who-Lived manage to find himself all alone on a night like this?"

Harry startles, but he quickly regains his composure.

"Clearly, I was just waiting for you to show up," Harry answers sarcastically.

"Well, I have arrived to rescue you from your boredom," Draco drawls as he takes a seat next to Harry. "So when did Granger and Krum become a thing?" he asks, gesturing to the couple talking animatedly nearby.

"I'm honestly not sure," Harry replies.

Hermione must have seen them looking because a few moments later, she and Viktor are right in front of them. "Hi Harry!" she exclaims excitedly. "...And Malfoy," she adds after a brief hesitation.

"Hey Hermione! Having fun?" Harry smiles at her.

She smiles back, and Harry notices Viktor squeeze her hand. "Yes, I am. Where did Ron and the Patils go?"

Harry shrugs. "I think Ron is with Fleur?"

Hermione looks at him quizzically, probably wondering why he's not more concerned about his friend's whereabouts. "Alright then."

Viktor, probably sensing the tension, turns to Hermione and asks, "Dance with me?"

She takes his extended hand and then they're gone, joining the other couples on the dance floor.

"They are a lovely match, I must say," comments Draco.

Harry's heart is warm, and he says, "I agree. I'm glad she's happy."

The two continue to talk for a while, more than they've ever talked in the past three years they've known each other. And their conversation isn't malicious. They don't exchange rude remarks about each other or their houses or anything. They just talk. About Harry's friends, the Triwizard Tournament (Draco even believes Harry when he says he really didn't put his name in the Cup: "Of course you didn't. That would've been entirely unlike you. You've never sought attention. You just have a bit of a hero complex," he'd said with a slight smirk).

Harry enjoys talking to Draco so much that he almost forgets he didn't just come with Draco to the ball.

* * *

Severus watches the Yule Ball festivities, harboring no desire to take part in them as many of his fellow professors do. His mind is far too preoccupied with other matters (not that he would have been any more interested in tonight's events even if he didn't have more important things to focus his mind on) His Dark Mark has been growing ever darker, hinting that _He Who Must Not Be Named_ is active, growing stronger; and of course, there's still the matter of an unknown student being abused without anyone to help him.

That's when Severus surveys the room only to see . . . Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter _laughing_ together. Something suspicious is definitely going on there. But, he won't dare get involved with anything Potter-related right now. Certainly not with Voldemort's return imminent.

* * *

After a while, Harry finds himself in the hallway outside the ballroom with Draco. They'd ended up leaving the ballroom so they could hear each other better because the music seemed to be getting increasingly louder inside. In fact, Harry can still hear the music flowing into the hallway, but luckily it's not loud enough to bother him. "No, no, I definitely think that Ron stands no chance of actually _dating _Fleur," Harry laughs in response to Draco's comment about what Harry and Hermione would do if Ron's ego got even bigger due to dating Fleur.

Draco is also laughing, and he offers a hand to Harry. He mockingly bows and asks, "Will you dance with me?"

Harry grins and accepts it. Draco twirls him around, and Harry allows his mind to focus on nothing but this moment. The music, the laughter, the light in Draco's eyes that he's never seen before. . . .

But of course, that's when Ron and Fleur stumble through the door. Ron runs right into Harry, knocking him away from Draco. "Oh, hey Harry!" he exclaims.

"What's going on?" Harry asks in confusion.

"Erm, we're just . . . "

"Running from the people you're both supposed to be here with?" Draco pipes up innocently.

"Kind of . . . exactly that!" Ron answers. "I'll see you later then, Harry!" he pats Harry's shoulder and runs off.

Fleur giggles. "Isn't he so cute?" she asks them before taking off after him.

A moment later, Padma comes bursting through the doors. "Have either of you seen the cute redhead?" she asks eagerly. Harry nods, while Draco shakes his head.

They both speak at the same time:

"He went back to the Gryffindor dormitory."

"We haven't seen him."

She looks at them in confusion and retreats back into the ballroom.

Harry and Draco both roll their eyes at each other after she leaves.

"You're so _honest,"_ says Draco.

"You're a pathological liar," Harry retorts.

They both laugh.

But then Harry's mind lands upon a thought that he can't get rid of, so he decides to verbalize it.. "Draco, I have to ask. You helped me with the first task. Do you have any ideas about what the golden egg could be telling me about the next task? When I open it, it just makes screeching sounds."

Draco's expression grows more serious. "Hmm… perhaps you just weren't able to hear its message that way. Have you tried opening it in different environments? LIke . . . underwater, maybe?"

"No," Harry says slowly. "But I think I'll try that."


	7. Chapter 7: The Research Never Ends

_"Don't make friends who are comfortable to be with. Make friends who will force you to lever yourself up."_

_– Thomas J. Watson_

The day after the Yule Ball, Harry finds himself beginning to panic about the second task. He still hasn't figured out what it is, and if Draco's idea about trying to open the egg underwater doesn't work, then Harry doesn't know _what _he'll do. But then again, if Draco _is_ right . . . that'll be yet _another_ thing Harry owes to Draco. He's not sure what that'd mean. Does Draco ever plan to call in on these favors? They may have had a nice time together at the Yule Ball, but Harry has no idea whether last night's events really signify any major changes between them. They're capable of acting friendly towards one another, sure, but that doesn't mean they're really friends.

Harry sighs in frustration and confusion. It's basically hopeless trying to understand Draco. It always has been. So, he instead shifts his focus to the golden egg that he's clutching tightly. He managed to get the password to the prefects' bathroom by simply asking Cedric to tell him, so now all that's left to do is try opening the egg underwater in the giant bath.

He quickly undresses and steps into the water with the egg. The water is delightfully warm and soothing, not to mention the fact that it smells heavenly. But he's not here to enjoy a bath, so Harry opens the egg and then quickly ducks under the water's surface with it. And thankfully, unlike all the other times he's tried to open the damn thing, the egg's message actually makes sense now. A woman's lilting voice sings to him:

"_Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_An hour long you'll have to look,_

_To recover what we took."_

When the singing stops, Harry breaks back above the surface of the water, gasping for air. His head is dizzy, both from lack of oxygen and the massive revelation about what the second task will entail. He grits his teeth with the realization that Draco Malfoy has once again helped him, but he reminds himself that he can't afford to turn away any help right now. Not when the stakes are so high.

As he dries himself off and redresses, Harry starts wondering what exactly he's going to be looking for underwater. And what body of water will he be looking in? Clearly he's going to have even more research ahead of him. _Excellent_.

* * *

When Harry finds himself back in his dormitory soon after his unsanctioned visit to the prefects' bathroom, he notices his journal placed next to his pillow. Setting the egg carefully inside his trunk, he remembers that he hasn't looked at the journal since before the Yule Ball. So he lays down on his bed and opens it, curious to see what he'll find waiting for him.

**Aw, it's so sweet that you care so much about your friends. I'm basically just always trying to live up to people's expectations about me. It's so tiring to have to put so much effort into being someone that isn't really me. Hey, how do you maintain real friendships? Sometimes I feel like I don't have any real friends, and I wish I did.**

Harry can't help smiling. This person seems so genuine, someone that he would enjoy being friends with. Part of him wants to just give up his identity so that they can move on to being proper friends here at Hogwarts, but this _is_ still a competition, and Harry is still somewhat trying to win. Granted, he's not trying very _hard_ at the moment, but he's confident that he can figure out who this person is eventually just by paying attention.

Still smiling to himself, he writes, **I'm sorry you don't feel like you have any real friends. Friendship is the most valuable thing I have, and I can't imagine my life without it. Well, I kind of can, but that reality was miserable. So anyway, I'd recommend that you act with compassion and sincerity towards people, and they're much more likely to gravitate towards you as potential friends. **

Instead of waiting around and doing nothing until his partner responds, Harry decides to go the library. Now that he has an idea of what the second task will be, he can finally start researching and preparing for it.

* * *

Draco is writing an essay in the library, minding his own business, when all of a sudden, a loud clamor jerks his attention upwards. And of course, it's Harry. He appears to have just slammed his golden egg on the table. _Probably in triumph,_ Draco notes, _based on the silly grin adorning his face._

"I figured it out, Draco! You were right!" the wet-haired Gryffindor hisses excitedly while sitting down across from him.

Though he's inwardly much more thrilled that his guess has turned out to be accurate, Draco keeps his face controlled. He merely raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Are you surprised?" he asks.

"Kind of. I mean, even Hermione wasn't sure what I should do. But then your first guess was right!"

"I'm a Slytherin," Draco remarks somewhat haughtily, "thinking about things cleverly is what I do best."

"I always thought you were best at being a bully," Harry says, glancing away from Draco.

He feels his chest tighten, and he doesn't know what to say. It's true that he's taunted and tormented Harry and his friends for years. But recently . . . well, he's rather enjoyed pretending like that hasn't been the case.

So instead of directly replying to Harry, Draco asks, "So what did the egg tell you?"

Harry looks a bit disappointed, as though he'd hoped that Draco would address the matter Harry had brought up, but he goes along with Draco's subject change. "It basically said that I'll be going somewhere underwater where whoever was singing lives and I'll have an hour to look for something they took."

"Interesting." Draco thinks for a moment. "Well, the obvious location for the second task would be the Great Lake then. They're not going to try to take us all somewhere outside of Hogwarts, and that's the only significant body of water here. And I believe there are supposedly merpeople living there, though I've never encountered any myself. I'm not sure what you'll be looking for that they've taken, however."

Harry shrugs. "Hopefully that'll be explained further when the task actually starts if we can't figure it out beforehand."

"_We?_" Draco inquires, lazily casting a spell at Harry to dry the boy's hair off, since he apparently wouldn't be bothered to do so himself.

Harry blushes in embarrassment, which makes Draco chuckle, and then Harry's consequent helpless confusion sends him full-on laughing.

* * *

After he'd finished doing a bit of unsuccessful research with Draco in the library, he'd excitedly told Ron and Hermione of his success in finally decoding the golden egg. So as not to spoil their excitement, he left out the part about Draco being the one to guide him in that direction. When Hermione asked how he thought to open the egg underwater, he just vaguely said that something he'd overheard at the ball gave him the idea.

Now, at dinner, Harry sits with Ron and Hermione, as per usual again lately. However, Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour are here as well. It's odd, feeling like a fifth wheel. Harry has never in his life felt like he wasn't the center of attention. But Harry doesn't mind this new experience. It's what he's always wanted, after all. While listening to Ron and Hermione engage in separate conversations with their Yule Ball dates (and now perhaps just _date_ dates), he idly thinks to himself that if only Cedric would come over from the Hufflepuff table, all the Champions would be having dinner in this little group together.

Harry smiles to himself as he watches both of his friends with their partners. Hermione and Viktor, sitting across from him, are having a heated discussion about the value of the Dark Arts in wizarding education. Occasionally, one of them turns to him to get another opinion about one of their points, and he gives his insight. They both give each other just the right amount of respect and challenge, which makes Harry incredibly happy for Hermione.

Ron and Fleur sit next to him. They're both so idealistic and innocent that Harry thinks they could truly trust each other and neither would ever betray that trust. They gaze at each other as if the other person is a revelation. Harry doesn't think he's ever seen two people so lost in each other. Sometimes, Ron leans over to Harry and whispers a quick comment about Fleur in his ear, like "She has a bunch of siblings too, could you imagine if both our families were in one place _together_?"

Glancing down at his journal, Harry decides to open it and see if anything new awaits him. And indeed, his partner had managed to reply to his last message. **It's just hard to really be myself. I don't even know how to begin. How have you done it?**

Harry thinks for a moment and then replies. **I acted the way that felt natural to me instead of the way that people seemed to expect me to act. And since I have close friends, I'd say it wasn't a bad decision for me at all. A few close friends has always seemed better to me than a bunch of casual ones. How do you normally act around other students?**

* * *

The next day finds Draco and Harry in potions with Snape yet again. Draco can't seem to stop himself from glancing over at Harry throughout the lesson, which is something inane about endurance potions. To his surprise, Harry isn't glaring at Snape the way he usually does. Instead, the Gryffindor's face is twisted in confusion, like he can't reconcile what he sees when he looks at the professor with what he knows to be true. Well, Draco can relate to that at least. His encounters with the man have been . . . inconsistent, throughout the past few years.

"—can help those who consume it endure hostile environments, such as extreme heat and cold, as well as adapt to unusual circumstances," Draco hears Snape finish explaining the use of some potion. And suddenly . . . well, it's sounding like it could be useful after all. Harry will soon be spending an hour underwater, after all. He's going to need some kind of assistance doing that successfully without succumbing to the elements. And it's certainly true that a potion would be longer-lasting and more effective than any spell Draco could think of for enduring the  
cold and lack of oxygen.

A voice in Draco's head, sounding suspiciously like his father, asks him, _Why do you care whether Potter is successful or not? He means nothing to you. You owe him nothing. In fact, you have done him far too many favors recently as it is. People will start to notice soon, Draco. The _wrong _people._

Draco clenches his fists. He's at least going to do this one last thing, though he can't explain even to himself why he's so determined about the matter.

So after the class concludes and Snape dismisses the students, Draco pulls Harry aside in the hallway. "I have an idea about how you can stay underwater for an hour," he states matter-of-factly.

"Great! What is it?" Merlin, he's so eager and trusting that Draco almost rolls his eyes.

"I know that we can achieve the necessary effects with a potion, similar to what Snape was talking about in class today. But I'm not sure exactly what ingredients we'll need. So-"

Harry interrupts him abruptly. "Let me guess! More research?"

Draco smirks.

With a sigh of frustration, Harry throws his hands in the air. "The research never ends!"

* * *

After another hour of research in the library (which Harry spent looking so morose that Draco wondered how the boy had passed all of his classes so far if he really hates spending time in the library this much), Draco had figured out all of the ingredients they'd need, minus one. He just couldn't figure out what would allow the cold-resistant aspect of the potion to also serve as something that would allow Harry to breathe underwater and swim more efficiently.

He shouldn't be surprised that it ends up being Granger who provides them with that last ingredient. She and Krum were strolling past their table in the library, when Harry's exclamation of "There's got to be _something_ that you just haven't thought of yet, right?" grabs his friend's attention.

At that moment, Granger backtracks and looks at Harry, about to ask him what he needs help with, when her eyes fall upon Draco. He can practically see the transformation on her face as she looks from a "friend" to an "enemy." (Draco has never cared for such boxed-in labels. They're far too permanent, when the reality is that people's positions are always changing with in relation to others around them. Someone who could be considered a "friend" today might easily become an "enemy" tomorrow. And if you tried to trap people with those labels, it would simply be harder for you to adjust to a quick change in the status quo.) But then Granger seems to make up her mind to just ignore him and turns back to Harry. "Do you need help with finding something?"

Harry appears to consider whether or not to tell her what he's been researching with Draco, which leaves Draco feeling oddly satisfied that Harry had entrusted him with a task that he'd left one of his best friends in the dark about. It probably had something to do with how she and Weasley hadn't believed Harry when he asserted his innocence about putting his name in the Cup.

Eventually, Harry answers her. "Erm, yeah, actually. We're trying to find an ingredient that would allow cold-resistance and water-resistance ingredients to combine and work together. Did I explain that right? That is what we're trying to do, isn't it?" He looks to Draco for confirmation, which he gives with an incline of his head. _Close enough._

Draco notices Viktor's eyes narrow. _He probably has some idea of what the task is about then._

But Hermione seems to be trying her best to ignore the tension in the group, as she quickly summons a book from a shelf on the other side of the library. She winces as several loud _thwacks_ are then heard, accompanied by angry cursing, during its journey over. But finally it makes its way into her hands. She flips through a few pages, silently skimming them, until her eyes light up and she holds the book out to Harry, pointing at something triumphantly.

Harry, however, shrugs hopelessly. "That doesn't mean anything to me. You'll have to show Draco."

Hermione hesitated and then slid the book over to him. Her look of triumph has faded. She doesn't meet his eyes, and just whispers "Gillyweed." Then she abruptly turns back to her boyfriend and walks off with him.

Draco looks down at the book laid in front of him. "Gillyweed" is described as a plant that provides humans with gills and webbed feet and hands so that they can swim underwater easily. It seems like it can also be added to their cold-resistance potion to allow Harry to stay underwater during the second task without being hindered by the cold water.

"This should work," he tells Harry. But then he thinks of another problem. "Though, I'm not sure where we'll get it."

Uncharacteristically, Harry's eyes glint with impending mischief. "I think I can manage that."

* * *

"Dobby!" Harry whispers as loudly as he can without risking waking anyone up. He's in the Gryffindor Common Room, where he'd waited until everyone cleared out to head to bed before he closed the book he'd been absentmindedly reading and stood up to summon his friend.

"I need your help, Dobby!" he tries again, and then nearly screams as he glances down to see Dobby standing obediently a few mere inches in front of him.

"How can Dobby help the great Harry Potter?" the former house elf asks him eagerly.

Harry always hates asking for favors from Dobby, since it seems like taking advantage of someone's good nature, but he asks anyway. "There's an ingredient that I need for a potion. I'm not sure where it would be, exactly, but it's important that I find it soon."

"Anything for you, Sir!" Dobby exclaims. "What is the ingredient that Harry Potter is needing?"

"It's called Gillyweed," Harry replies gratefully. He's about to thank Dobby in advance when the elf suddenly disappears. Harry shrugs and figures that Dobby will probably need a bit of time to look for it. Maybe he'll come back with it tomorrow. But right as Harry is about to start heading upstairs, he hears panting coming from behind him.

Dobby's standing there again, but this time he's clutching a little bag that presumably contains Harry's desired Gillywood. "Dobby stole the Gillywood just like Harry Potter wanted!" he proclaims proudly.

"Thank you, Dobby!" Harry whispers back. "But shhh… I don't want to wake anyone up."

* * *

Hermione loves Harry. Not the way that she thinks she's maybe starting to love Viktor, of course, but the way that one loves a friend that one has known for years. Harry is near and dear to her, so her concern for his well-being is only natural.

That's why she pulls Ron aside first thing in the morning before they leave the Common Room for breakfast. "Have you noticed that Harry's been spending a lot of time with . . ." she hesitates.

"Malfoy?" Ron finishes for her.

"Exactly," Hermione says, tugging at her hair anxiously. "What do you think he wants with Harry? They were working on some kind of potion together yesterday."

"I don't know, but I don't like it. Why wouldn't he tell us about whatever it is?"

Hermione grimaces. "I don't think he trusts us, Ron."

"So he chooses to trust _Malfoy_ instead?" Ron demands incredulously.

"I just don't know what we should—"

At that moment, Ron elbows Hermione. She stops talking right as Ron cheerfully calls out, "G'morning, Harry!"

Hermione plasters a smile on her face as she turns to face him. Inwardly, she vows to investigate Malfoy and figure out what's going on. Harry might not trust her, but he certainly shouldn't be trusting that _Slytherin._


	8. Chapter 8: Where Are You?

_"__It is beautiful beneath the sea, but if you stay too long, you'll drown."_

_-Game of Thrones_

It's a brisk morning. The sky is gray, and there's a breeze that sends chills running down Harry's spine. He's wearing only a Gryffindor tank top and shorts. They'll help him move through the water more easily, but for now, they're just exposing him to the cold.

Cedric, standing next to him, wears a similar outfit, but its colors are the black and yellow of Hufflepuff. Viktor is dressed in the colors of Durmstrang, and Fleur wears a one-piece pale blue bathing suit. All of the Champions stand side-by-side on a platform looking out at the Great Lake surrounding them on all four sides.

Harry feels a hand on his shoulder and turns around to see Draco. "Drink this," he whispers and hands Harry a small vial. He knows what's inside of it: the potion that will allow him to swim underwater with ease for an hour. It surprises him how easily he takes the potion from Draco and drinks it. Just a month ago, he would've been hard-pressed to believe that _Malfoy_ could have any intentions with handing him a potion beyond poisoning him.

But now, he hands Draco the now-empty vial and murmurs back, "Thank you." Draco nods and retreats to the stands, where he'll watch the second task like everyone else. From here on out, Harry is on his own.

He wishes Hermione and Ron had come to wish him good luck. But come to think of it, he hasn't seen them since breakfast, when they'd promised to be here to send him off. He uneasily wonders if something could've happened to them, but he does his best to brush off the thought. Negativity won't help him now.

Something compels Harry to reach out and grab Cedric's and Viktor's hands. "Good luck everyone," he says loudly enough for them all to hear it. He notices that Fleur's taken Cedric's hand as well and repeated the wish to all of them. Viktor and Cedric smile and also wish them all good luck.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that none of them are out to get each other and win by stabbing fellow Champions in the back. That's the kind of foul gameplay that got rid of the Triwizard Tournament for so many years. But now, the Champions are all united and supportive of one another. They are competitors, but they're really only competing against themselves rather than each other. In fact, Harry had helpfully gone around advising the others to try opening their eggs underwater. He didn't want the unfair advantage of being the only one to know what the task was going to be.

The judges make the announcement for all the Champions to get into their starting positions. Harry glances behind him one last time, hoping for any glimpse of his friends. But all he sees is Draco, giving him a thumbs up. For some reason, that almost makes up for Ron and Hermione not being there. That's when Harry notices that the other Champions also appear to be nervously glancing around them. Which reminds him that Ron and Hermione had promised to be here wishing Viktor and Fleur good luck as well. How very odd of them not to show up…

"Begin!" booms a loud voice. Harry's caught off guard, as he had been lost in thought rather than gathering himself and preparing for the competition. He sees Fleur and Cedric cast the Bubble-Head Charm on themselves. _Simple, but it should do the trick for them. _Viktor appears to have done something that's turned him into a half-shark. Before he can think about how the Quidditch player managed that, Harry accidentally takes a half-step forward and falls into the water.

When he he sinks underneath the surface of the lake, he expects to feel cold and struggle to breathe. However, what he actually experiences is totally different, and he remembers that he really shouldn't have expected anything else, since he had talked to Draco about the effects that the potion would have on him. The water is a perfectly comfortable temperature. When Harry gulps in water, he feels his gills filter the oxygen and carbon dioxide. Looking down at his body, he realizes that his hands and feet have webbed together, giving him what appear to be promising flippers.

He tests out his swimming functionality by flapping his hands and legs in the water. He shoots off to the right much more quickly than he expected. Harry laughs and continues off in that direction. It's easy to forget that he's even in water rather than flying through the air, that's how perfectly his body works _with_ the water rather than against it.

Harry doesn't see any of the other Champions and can only wonder where they've all gotten to. He still doesn't even know what he's looking for, exactly. Just something the merpeople have stolen. _Where are you, stolen treasure?_

For lack of a better, idea, he decides to just go down. Whatever they've taken will probably be hidden somewhere deep rather than just floating near the surface. As he swims away from the sunlight, it should be harder for him to see this deep down, but he suspects that the potion is the reason for his enhanced sight even though it isn't a side effect Draco had ever specifically mentioned.

The silence is just starting to bother Harry on his way downwards when he's suddenly attacked. Grindylows surround him, seemingly out of nowhere. Their long fingers wrap around his arms and legs, trapping him. He tries to scream, though he logically knows it's rather useless underwater. He can't use his wand in this position, so he twists his arm in a way that manages to snap the brittle fingers wrapped around it. Before another grindylow can recapture him, he snaps the fingers wrapped around his other arm and quickly frees his legs.

With a few flicks of his temporary flappers, Harry's back on track downwards. And this time, he's able to proceed all the way down uninterrupted. He soon encounters what appears to be the merpeople settlement. There are what look like houses and other structures. Harry can't help but swim through the area a little more slowly as he looks around curiously.

He approaches what appears to be a town square and sees four people he recognizes. They're all most likely unconscious, as their eyes are closed and their bodies are still, moved only by the natural ebb and flow of the lake water. Several merpeople forebodingly guard them. _This must be what I'm here for._

Ron, Hermione, Fleur's little sister whose name he can't remember, and Cho Chang are all here, presumably waiting to be rescued. Cho is obviously here because of Cedric, and Fleur's sister awaits Fleur, but between Ron and Hermione, Harry doesn't know how he's supposed to choose. Logically, he knows that Hermione is probably supposed to be for Viktor, but Hermione and Ron are both Harry's best friends. He can't just take one and not the other.

So Harry goes over to Ron and casts a spell to cut the bindings holding him in place. The merpeople don't stop him. Once Ron is free, Harry uses one hand to hold onto Ron while using his other to cast the same freeing spell on Hermione.

As they see what he's doing, the merpeople finally decide to intervene. "Only one!" a male hisses at him and grabs ahold of Hermione.

"But she's my friend too!" Harry pleads. He certainly can't just leave without knowing that everyone else will be rescued, especially Hermione. He could never forgive himself if Viktor was unable to get her in time and she was lost forever. While he doesn't think Dumbledore would condone a task where that could happen, he still can't take that chance.

Luckily, he's only hesitated a few moments when Viktor shows up. He can't say anything to Harry while his head resembles that of a shark's, but he gives Harry a pat on the shoulder as he takes Hermione from both Harry's and the merman's grips.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief and considers just leaving with Ron now. He doesn't really know Cho or Fleur's sister well, anyway. But still . . . they both seem like good people, and he knows that Fleur and Cedric would both be devastated if anything happened to them. So he anxiously waits and hopes that there's still time for Cedric and Fleur to get here.

A few more minutes pass before Cedric appears, flustered. "Fleur's being swarmed by grindylows!" he shouts at Harry in concern. Harry's head spins. He has to help her, but he can't bring Ron with him…

"Can you take Cho and Ron to the surface?" he asks the Hufflepuff.

Cedric, who's just finished freeing Cho, nods and grips Ron tightly. "Be careful, Harry."

As Cedric and Harry swim away from Fleur's sister, Cedric points Harry in Fleur's direction before swimming to the surface with his two charges. It doesn't take him long to find her. "Relashio!" Harry yells as he aims his wand at the Grindylows surrounding her. His heart skips a beat as he sees the resulting jets of boiling hot water knock two of the grindylows away from the struggling girl. There are still three more holding onto her, but it's gotten harder for him to aim at them without risking the jinx hurting Fleur as well. He swims closer and carefully casts the Revulsion Jinx on the remaining grindylows. Then Harry quickly snatches Fleur away from them as soon as he can and swims with her back towards the merpeople settlement.

"Your sister's right down here," he says as he guides her.

She raises her eyebrows in confusion, and Harry concludes that she hasn't realized what the merpeople stole from each of them yet. But she gasps in shock when she sees her sister bound and held hostage by the merpeople. After Harry sees that she's able to free her sister and start ascending to the surface, Harry swims back up to the platform by himself.

He's so exhausted by the time helpful arms reach down into the water and help pull him out that he doesn't even pay attention to who helped him or what score he gets. He just gratefully accepts the warm blanket that someone wraps around his shoulders and collapses in a chair. Hermione, Viktor, Cedric, Cho, Ron, Fleur, and Fleur's sister are all there too, and that's enough to make him smile in relief, content to ignore everything else.

* * *

"So how have your endeavors with your journal been going, Draco?" Severus snaps at Draco. The fourth year has been meandering around his office for the past fifteen minutes silently. Severus hopes that breaking the silence might hurry things along.

Clearly Draco had been waiting for such a prompt because he instantly brightens up and responds, "Well, the first two people were easy to guess. But now I'm dealing with someone who's proving rather difficult. He seems clever, since he hasn't let any vital information slip to me, despite my best innocent act. I'm actually growing rather fond of my opponent, oddly enough, and I find myself only wishing to solve the mystery of their identity so that I can put a name and face to the words I read."

While he was speaking, Draco had lazily flung his journal onto Severus' desk for emphasis. As the boy finishes his rant, the professor's eye is caught by how the pages in his journal had flipped open to one of his conversations.

Draco must notice his shift in focus, because he offhandedly remarks, "Oh yeah, this is part of my conversation with him."

Severus doesn't particularly care about who Draco's talking to or any of these details he's been rambling on about, but still, he narrows his eyes. Something about these words, perhaps even the _handwriting_ is familiar to him. He feels that this sneaking suspicion of his is probably just wishful thinking, but regardless, he pulls out his own journal from a drawer within his desk. He flips it open to his unfortunate last conversation and lays the two journals flat on his desk, one above the other. While Severus and Draco have markedly different lettering, the handwriting of the other person in each conversation is certainly similar enough that it could very well be the same person. Severus' heart skips a beat in excitement at the possibility to have a second chance at solving this mystery. But he reprimands himself firmly. _This is just a theory that we could be talking to the same person. It's unproven. Mere conjecture. No need to jump to conclusions and give us both false hope._

"_Salazar Slytherin_, this is perfect!" exclaims Draco excitedly.

Severus glares at him.

"What?" asks Draco in confusion. "Clearly you know who this person is, so you can just tell me, and I'll win this round."

Severus' glare deepens.

"_Oh,_" says Draco, finally catching on. "You _don't_ actually know who this person is."

Severus continues glaring at Draco, and his fingers start rapidly rapping against the desk in quick succession. But otherwise, his mannerisms betray none of his inner angst.

Finally, Severus says, "You said you've grown fond of this person. Do you believe that he has grown fond of you as well?"

Draco shrugs and says, "I mean, I think so."

There's a pause, and then Severus quietly says, "Then there's a line of questioning you should try to _carefully_ breach. I _may_ have spoken to this same student. If that is indeed the case, then you are speaking with someone whom I believe is a victim of some domestic abuse. I find myself concerned for his safety. It's possible that he would trust you to help him more than me. After he discovered my identity, I told him that I would help him. However, he hasn't spoken with me since."

Though Severus knows that his face has maintained its typical blasé façade, his emotions are inwardly roiling.

Draco's mouth forms a thin line. Severus can practically see the wheels turning in the boy's mind. _Good. Perhaps this will be a step forward. Draco is a brilliant young Slytherin who will concoct a plan of some sort of solve this mystery once and for all._

"Thank you, Professor. I hope that this discussion will turn out to be quite fruitful," Draco says as he hastily snatches his journal back and exits the room, most likely off to execute said plan.

After the young Slytherin is definitely gone, Severus flicks his wand to close and lock the door. Then he collapses into his chair. Even though he's alone now, his face is so accustomed to perfect neutrality that his emotions are still only really visible in the way that the fingers of his left hand continue to rap against the desk.

What are the odds that both Draco and himself would find this same person and both attempt to befriend him? _But the odds don't really matter, _he muses. Only the reality of the situation and how he handles it does. And he intends to handle it by not letting this student slip away from him as an unknown individual again. Draco won't fail. He's nearly completely sure of it. But that tiny bit of doubt is enough to keep his thoughts spinning around tumultuously, worrying that Severus could indeed continue to be unable to help this person.

Finally, his mind settles around a singular conclusion: if Draco is unable to identify this person, then they will both go to Dumbledore with as much information as they have, and he will be able to help.

* * *

Draco's mind is spinning after his conversation with Snape. He tightly clutches his journal, but beyond his awareness that the item remains in his possession, he pays little attention to what his senses tell him. Instead, he just hurries to the Slytherin Common Room as quickly as he can.

Snape's last statement, that the person Draco's been talking to has likely suffered abuses at home, has been making his stomach do somersaults ever since. But it also sparked an idea in his mind. An idea that should both reveal and protect his . . . _friend_? Are they friends? Draco thinks he wants them to be.

"Serpent," Draco mutters to the bare wall hiding the Slytherin Common Room entrance. The bricks shift out of his way, revealing the previously-hidden passage. Not wasting any time, Draco slips through as the bricks are still moving.

By the time he's actually in the Common Room, he's so eager to begin putting his plan into motion that he immediately sprawls out on the nearest black leather couch. Opening his journal, he turns to his current conversation and writes: **I am normally a bit reserved, perhaps even cold. Sometimes I blame my parents for raising me to seem emotionless. How have your parents raised you?**

He waits eagerly for a reply that thankfully only takes a few minutes. **My parents are dead. Why wouldn't your parents want you to have emotions?**

Draco takes the bait eagerly. He's so close to solving this mystery that giving away some information about himself seems like a fine price to pay at this point if it will help keep the person at the other end of the quill intrigued. **I'm a Slytherin and a pureblood. Showing emotion only gets in the way of ambition, at least in their eyes. But who do you live with now, if it's not your parents?**

A pause. And then: **I live with my relatives and their son. They're not nice to me either. How do you feel about emotions?**

Draco only briefly hesitates and writes, **I think that it's important not to let emotions control your life. But I disagree with my parents partially. I think that if we didn't have emotions and let them influence us, we'd all just become monsters. Does your family ever hurt you, or how are they "not nice"?**

This time, the pause is longer. Then, Draco sees a response that makes his eyes widen and his heart drop unexpectedly in his chest. **They have hurt me, both emotionally and physically. But you don't have to worry about me. I'm okay, really. I can take care of myself. I always have. So, would you not welcome a return by Voldemort if you think emotionless wizards like him are monsters?**

This question is the hardest of all for Draco to answer. Even in his own mind, he's not sure what the truth of it is. So he does his best to give a vague response that the journal will still accept as honest. He shudders a bit as he realized how dangerous it would be for him if anyone in this room, let alone his parents, saw this expression of his true feelings. **I am happier with how things are now than I think I would be if Voldemort actually returned. I know you're taking care of yourself. But I find myself wanting to help you. It's not often I get the chance to actually help someone. So please, let me give you something that will help you if you face further abuse?**

Draco waits with bated breath for the answer to this question. He _has_ to agree to this. Draco's whole plan hinges upon it. He slowly releases the breath he'd unintentionally been holding when the response finally shows up. **Okay, but I'll do it more for you than for myself. What is it that you want to give me?**

Grinning, Draco quickly responds. **It's a bracelet that will help to heal you when you're hurt. Can you go to the top of the Astronomy Tower tomorrow night if I leave it there for you?**

After the next response, Draco drops the journal on the coffee table in front of him in triumph, though the words contain an underlying threat that leaves him with a twang of nervousness as well. The other boy had written: **Okay, but I'm going to be incredibly disappointed if this is just a trap to discover my identity. What time?**

So Draco's plan is in motion. Everything now just depends on if Draco can actually pull it off. He can't seem to get rid of this foreboding feeling that whoever this is won't forgive him for this set-up, but he pushes the feeling away. Draco really does want to help him, but he can't do that if he never finds out who it is that he's trying to help. _Where are you? _he wonders. _I just want to help. Please let me use the advice you've been giving me, so that I can be a good friend to you. I just want one friend._

He stands up and sets off to enchant the perfect bracelet for his mysterious friend.


	9. Chapter 9: The Friends of My Enemy

_"__A trap is only a trap if you don't know about it. If you know about it, it's a challenge."_

_― __China Miéville, __King Rat_

Harry grips his invisibility cloak tightly. Using it now feels like cheating, but he can't help it. As much as he's the kind of person who likes to see the best in others, it feels unavoidable now that he be at least a bit hesitant to trust anyone he meets through the journal. After all, he'd unknowingly begun trusting Snape of all people just because the guy'd said a few sympathetic words towards him.

Yes, it's for the best that Harry goes to the astronomy tower wearing the invisibility cloak. He can easily reveal himself when he sees who it is that he's meeting. _Or not, if it's someone I can't trust._ But he shoves that little voice down because it won't be. He knows it won't be. He's had much better conversations with this person than he ever did with Snape.

So he finally dons his invisibility cloak and goes to the astronomy tower. He's nearly there when he happens to hear something that gives him pause: Hermione and Ron, apparently talking about _Harry_.

"-but what are we supposed to do about it? Hermione, we keep having this same conversation over and over. But at this point, I'm honestly surprised I was the one the merpeople stole instead of _him_. Harry turns to him at every turn instead of us these days. Doesn't that _bother_ you?"

Harry moves closer to them and sees her scowl. "Of course it bothers me, Ron! You know how much Malfoy has bullied me just for being a muggleborn witch. He's a Slytherin, and we both know how concerning that is. I don't understand how Harry can stand to be around someone so prejudiced. But you saw how upset Harry got that time we questioned him about getting the spell he used in the first task from Malfoy. We'll lose him for sure if we try to directly talk Harry out of hanging around him."

They keep whispering for a few more minutes, constantly glancing around for eavesdroppers. Harry's heart sinks. It takes all of his self-control to keep himself from throwing off his cloak and yelling at them for saying such things behind his back. He knows that Draco—_Malfoy_, he needs to keep reminding himself—is not exactly a great person. In fact, Harry would've said they were enemies before this year. He's not even sure why he would no longer call them enemies anymore. Recently, Harry and Draco have even been acting _kind of like friends_. And as guilty as that makes Harry feel, he's also reluctant to deprive himself of that friendship. After all, Ron and Hermione haven't exactly been the best friends to him lately. He doesn't owe them anything. They have no right to assume that someone like Draco is unable to change and grow. It infuriates Harry to hear his friends judge Draco as a Slytherin the very same way that Hermione hates to be judged as a muggleborn.

_But are the years of friendship I've shared with them really worth throwing away for the sake of this fledgling friendship with Draco? I want to keep what I've had but still gain something new. But what if I can't have both?_

Harry tries to quiet his whirlwind thoughts. He has a meeting to get to, with yet another new friend. Hopefully this is someone who Ron and Hermione might even welcome and want to be friends with too. Right after Harry uses this person's identity to win this round of the journal competition, at least.

By the time he ends up getting to the tower, he's almost ten minutes late. His heart does a little flip when he sees Draco loitering near the staircase. If he wasn't already late to a rendezvous and in disguise, Harry doesn't think he would've been able to resist the chance to stop and talk to him for a bit. Especially after what he'd just heard from Ron and Hermione. But he's got to stay focused on why he's actually here.

On the top of the tower, there's a lone marble pedestal with a sleek green-stoned bracelet resting atop it. Harry admires it, though the green is slightly off-putting to him, just because it so closely resembles the Killing Curse, though he knows his friends would dislike it more for its resemblance to...

_Slytherin._

That's precisely the moment when Draco barges to the top of the tower as well, looking annoyed. _He doesn't seem surprised to see the necklace here, _Harry realizes wide-eyed. But it can't be Draco. He would've known if it was Draco. Right?

Harry watches Draco pace in circles around the necklace for another ten minutes. For some reason, he can't bring himself to reveal his identity to Draco. Perhaps it's the realization that Draco had clearly been pretending to have an entirely different personality in the journal, or maybe it's just an unfair feeling of betrayal that Draco kept his identity from him even though the point of the journal competition is to do exactly that. Or maybe it's a third possibility that Harry can't exactly bring himself to voice. Because Harry just wants to be _friends_ with Draco. _Not even close friends, _he tries to convince himself. But deep down, he knows that's not true.

_But what would Ron and Hermione say? I can't lose them again, not now when it could be for good._

Reluctantly, Harry pulls out his journal. He'd brought it with him in the case of a surprise like this. But the fact that it's apparently Draco he's been talking to isn't the kind of bad surprise he was expecting to have to use the journal for. No, it's an odd kind of relief that he's been connecting with Draco in two different ways. As if the universe is telling him that no matter in what medium he meets Draco, they'll still be drawn together. But Harry still doesn't know how genuine any of Draco's responses have been in the journal. So because of that and so many other reasons, Harry turns to the most recent page and writes, **You are Draco Malfoy.**

The journal flashes blue and its pages flip, settling on a new space where he will soon talk to yet another individual. But Harry's just left feeling like he's the loser of this round, even though the journal's marked him as the winner.

Harry looks up to see Draco scowling at his journal. It brings a sad little smile to his face to see how hurt Draco looks by the fact that the person he was waiting for never showed up and yet somehow figured out his identity. Harry wonders how Draco would react upon learning that it's Harry he was waiting for. Would he feel as conflicted as Harry? Or perhaps his emotions would be clearer; maybe he'd even want to—

Suddenly, Draco snatches the jade bracelet from its pedestal and hurls it off the tower. He screams as he does it, and the scream sounds . . . lonely and lost and it makes Harry want to hurt whoever hurt Draco, except _he's_ the one who hurt Draco.

Draco leaves after that. Harry has half a mind to follow him and apologize. But he still has an eye on where the bracelet fell to the ground. Although he has no right to do it, he soon finds himself outside picking the bracelet up after a blurred dash through the castle. He slips it onto his left wrist, where it sits comfortably nestled against his skin. Would Draco want Harry to have it, if he knew that Harry's the person he'd gotten the bracelet for? Did Draco even intend to really let him keep it after their meeting and both their identities were out in the open? Harry wonders if he'll ever get answers to these questions.

* * *

The next day, when Draco tries to join Harry in the library after classes are all over, Harry finds himself stuck following through with the decision he'd made at some point last night to choose his friends over Draco.

"Mind if I join you?" the blonde asks him teasingly. He's already smiling. There's clearly only one answer he expects to hear.

Harry's initial excited reaction to Draco's presence implores him to say "Please sit down!" or perhaps respond as teasingly as Draco by telling him no with a smile that clearly contradicts his words. But before he can do either of those appealing things, he mentally kicks himself. _I can't pretend to be friendly with him when I've just hurt him. Whatever's between us, I want it to be genuine. No pretences._

So he swallows hard and says, "I was actually just leaving." He then quickly stands, shoves his things in his bag, and hurries past Draco.

But Draco doesn't let him leave so easily. "Is something wrong?" he asks, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. It nearly kills Harry to hear the concern in his voice. Why is Draco Malfoy so concerned about him anyway? It's just making him feel more conflicted. He doesn't need this to be harder than it already is. It shouldn't be this hard to give up something he barely had to begin with.

So he hesitates a moment before placing one of his own hands over Draco's. The gesture feels strangely intimate, but so many of their interactions have felt similarly lately that Harry hardly even registers it. He just looks at Draco, soaking up the expression on the other boy's face just in case he never sees it again.

Without answering verbally, he shrugs off Draco's hand and walks away.

* * *

Cedric has never really bought into the whole "House rivalries" thing. Maybe it's just his Hufflepuff innocence talking, but he's always found that there are plenty of nice and not-so-nice people in every House.

So perhaps that's why when he sees Draco Malfoy sitting alone in the library and glaring at his journal, he doesn't hesitate to go over to the younger boy and sit down across from him. Cedric's heard of and even seen some rather nasty behavior exhibited by the fourth year, but Harry Potter has seemed to be friendly with him this year, so it's entirely possible that he's changed. And Cedric's never been one to judge people without getting to know them first anyway.

"What do you want, Hufflepuff?" Draco demands. Cedric thinks the question is supposed to intimidate him into leaving Draco alone. He chuckles inwardly at the thought of giving up so easily. People tend to underestimate him as "weak" because he's in Hufflepuff, but Cedric is incredibly persistent when he's decided upon a course of action, as Draco is about to find out. There's a reason he's one of Hogwarts' Champions, after all.

"Hi Draco, is something wrong?" he asks good-naturedly, not letting Draco's gruffness get to him at all.

The Slytherin runs a hand through his hair, probably in annoyance at not being able to get rid of him so easily. "_Yes_," he says bitterly and then seems surprised by his own honesty. "Harry won't talk to me, and I've been eliminated from the journal competition. I keep thinking that maybe if I show people who I really am, what I'm really _like_, then they won't run away and leave me. But that's exactly what keeps happening every time I reveal my true self, both with Harry and someone I met through the journals."

Cedric leans back in his chair, processing. That's certainly more pathetic than he'd ever expected a Malfoy to sound. But then again, he can appreciate that. The blonde is breaking the mold that everyone assumed he'd spend his life defined by. And no one seems to be making it worth it for him to go through all that effort.

"I think it's really admirable that you're trying so hard to be yourself. And you know what, Draco Malfoy? I like the real you. At least, from what little I've seen."

Draco reaches out and clutches Cedric's hand as if it's a lifeline. And at that moment, the other boy seems so vulnerable that all Cedric wants to do is protect him from the harshness of the wizarding world. He's never been one to question his instincts much when it comes to matters like this, so Cedric starts stroking Draco's hand in what he hopes is a comforting way.

"Hey, do you want to go hang out in the Hufflepuff Common Room? Everyone's welcome there, and we have couches that are a bit more comfortable than these old chairs."

The other boy smiles at him, gathering his things together as he stands up. Before they leave the library, Cedric can't resist putting his hands on Draco's shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes while saying, "Don't let anyone's reactions stop you from being your true self, okay? There will always be people like me who will appreciate you for who you are."

And then they're hugging, gently, as if neither of them has ever hugged anyone before and they're both a bit afraid that to hug the other person more firmly could result in permanent damage.

Draco is the one to take it a step further. When they mutually break off the hug, he shyly moves his hands from the Hufflepuff's back to his face. Cedric only has a moment to guess what's about to happen before Draco's kissing him. It's firmer than their hug had been, though Cedric can tell that Draco probably doesn't have much, if any, experience in kissing. But Draco kisses him softly, with a desperation that Cedric can't help but want to respond to.

A few moments later, when Draco pulls away from Cedric, the blonde gasps out, "I'm sorry!" and seems like he's about to flee the scene of a terrible crime.

So Cedric grabs his hand to keep him close. "Wait," he murmurs and brushes some stray strands of hair out of Draco's face. "You don't have to be so afraid of letting anyone close to you." He leans down and presses his lips to Draco's once more.

* * *

Harry's been trying his best not to think about Draco all day. And he's been mostly succeeding, despite how much leaving the Slytherin alone in the library had hurt yesterday.

But his mind is flooded with Draco-related thoughts when he sits down for dinner in the Great Hall and sees Draco kissing Cedric over by the Hufflepuff table. The couple attracts stares from across the room. Voices hush in shock. Harry feels bad for Draco for a moment, all too familiar with the unpleasantness of being the unwanted center of attention. But that sympathy is quickly overtaken by feelings of . . . _jealousy?_ But that wouldn't make any sense. Harry blushes and wrenches his eyes away from the kissing couple. What they do is none of his business.

His eyes shift down the Hufflepuff table, where he sees Cho Chang looking miserable. But she's surrounded by a little posse of girls who are alternately trying to comfort her and liquify Cedric Diggory with their murderous glares. Harry half wishes they'd succeed and then immediately berates himself for even _thinking_ something so vindictive.

"When did _that_ happen?" Ron asks disgustedly, gesturing at Cedric and Draco, who are now gazing fondly at each other in blissful ignorance of the attention they've drawn. The question abruptly breaks Harry out of his thoughts.

"I thought he had better taste," is all Hermione says in reply, shrugging her shoulders.

"Which one?" asks Viktor, laughing.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "_Cedric,_ of course!"

Fleur interjects, saying, "I think they're both so cute. They are a dreamy couple to be sure. I wouldn't mind having both of them together!"

Ron looks appalled for a moment, but then Fleur bursts out giggling. "That last thing was a joke, I promise! Don't you think I'm funny?" She winks at him, and Ron smiles forgivingly at her with a light blush on his already freckled face.

"What do you think, Harry? Did Malfoy ever talk to you about Cedric?" Hermione asks him suddenly. He knows she's trying to be delicate, given the conversation he'd overheard between her and Ron just a few days earlier.

But that doesn't make answering any easier. "No, we've never talked about Cedric. Draco and I have mostly spent time together to figure out the tasks recently. That's all." And it's not a lie, but it doesn't feel like the whole truth either.

"But it's still _Draco_ now," grumbles Ron under his breath. Harry stiffens, but doesn't say anything. All he can think about is how he was willing to sacrifice anything he could've had with Draco to keep this close friendship with Ron and Hermione, and now, it seems like they're still determined to pick apart every little thing he says. They're constantly so suspicious of him that he's not even sure their friendship will last regardless of Draco's current lack of involvement in the situation. And it might even be too late to get Draco back, since he seems currently preoccupied with Cedric. He'd probably much rather help the Hufflepuff prepare for the third task than Harry. After all, Cedric didn't leave him waiting on the astronomy tower. But Harry did, even if Draco doesn't know it.

* * *

After dinner, Harry's determined to escape to the Gryffindor Common Room as soon as he possibly can so that he's not forced to further endure the sight of Draco Malfoy and Cedric Diggory wrapped in each other's arms. But right as he's leaving the Great Hall, a pair of hands pulls him aside.

As soon as he sees Cedric's face, he tries to turn around and leave, but Cedric doesn't let him. Instead, he guides Harry further away from the steady stream of students pouring out of the Great Hall. "Harry, I just wanted to talk to you briefly."

"Is it about Draco?" Harry snaps.

"Well, yes, but—"

"Then I don't want to hear whatever it is that you have to say about him."

"Harry Potter!" Cedric suddenly snarls at him, using by far the most intimidating voice Harry's ever heard. "You _will_ listen to what I have to say."

Reluctantly, Harry nods and doesn't try to run away again. He just hopes this will be quick so that he can go back to trying _not_ to think about Draco and the confusing emotions he stirs in Harry.

"Draco was showing his true self to you, Harry. You and some guy he was talking to in his journal are the only two people he's really opened up to, and you both appear to have rejected him. Was he really that bad, Harry? From what I've seen of him this year, it seems like he's been a good friend to you. And _I_ certainly think he's sweet. That's not something most people would think to say about a Slytherin, I know, but Draco just seems . . . _different._ I think you're lucky that he let you really see him, Harry. And I don't think it's too late for you to reconcile with him. That's all I wanted to say. Thanks for listening, Harry."

Cedric walks away, leaving Harry standing there more bewildered and frustrated with the situation than ever. It seems that Cedric thinks Draco _was_ in fact being genuine with Harry both during their real-life friendship and the friendship they'd formed through writing to each other as well. And the more Harry thinks about it, the more the things that Draco had told him in the journal make sense. Draco had told Harry about the cool exterior he shows everyone around him and about his desire, but also his fear, to let the mask slip enough to make some real friends.

Harry puts his head in his hands tiredly. A large part of him wants to go find Draco right now, tell him everything, and apologize for pulling away from him. But he can't seem to bring himself to do that, at least not yet. So instead, he finally retreats to the Gryffindor Common Room. Once he's comfortably seated there, he pulls out his journal. He doesn't bother to see if he's been paired with someone new yet. Frankly, he doesn't care. The only thing on his mind is Draco.

Hands shaking with a kind of nervous excitement, he flips to where he'd been talking to Draco. After Harry had correctly guessed his identity, the Slytherin had written, **Yes, that's me. But please don't judge me based on whatever you think you know about me. I was trying my best to be genuine with you, the way you told me to be around other people.**

Harry picks up his quill and continues the conversation, glad they're now free from the question-and-answer format that they'd previously been forced to structure conversations around. **I'm here, Draco. Everything you've told me makes so much more sense now, and I'm sorry that I needed a few days to process your identity. I believe you when you said you were being genuine with me. I have the bracelet you made for me. I hope that's okay.**

No matter what Draco will say in response, Harry at least feels slightly better already. That prompts him to think back not only on his recent interactions with Draco, but also the ones with Snape. If Draco was being genuine, is it possible that Snape was as well? Both Snape and the Malfoys have always been people he's associated with Dark Magic. With Voldemort, in particular.

And if there's one thing he knows for sure, it's that Voldemort is definitely, undeniably evil. _But what if the friends of my enemy can be my friends? What if they came to see things my way? Would they care about me enough to reconsider everything?_

Harry certainly hopes so. But he's spent his whole life carefully tying his high hopes to heavy rocks, so that they'd sink down to the level of his unfortunate reality.


	10. Chapter 10: Everything is Fine

_Loving someone never gives you the right to control them. You can't force them to love you the way you want._

_\- Janja Pond_

"What do you mean _your plan didn't work?_" Severus hisses at Draco.

The blonde scowls at him in annoyance. "He figured out my identity. But I never even saw him when we were supposed to be meeting at the tower, so I don't know how."

Severus sighs. He didn't want to have to do this, but it looks like he doesn't have a choice now. It's already been nearly a week since Draco had failed. It seems the boy had been avoiding him since then, until Severus had grown impatient and pulled him aside after Potions. "Follow me, Draco. We're going to see the Headmaster."

"Now? Why?" Draco gulps.

"Yes, now. Because I said so." He sweeps out of the room, leaving the gawking boy scrambling to follow him. Severus doesn't slow down until he's in front of the gargoyle guarding the passageway to Albus's office. "Pixie puffs," he mutters. His recitation of the correct password prompts the gargoyle to reveal the previously hidden staircase, which he and Draco proceed to climb.

A few moments later, Draco and Severus are seated in front of Albus Dumbledore. "Whatever is so important that you had to speak with me so suddenly, Severus?" the Headmaster inquires.

"Draco and I have reason to believe that one of our students here at Hogwarts is being abused during school breaks. We have both spoken with an individual via the journal competition and received startlingly similar stories of abuse from non-parental relatives written in identical handwriting. Given that neither of us have been able to identify this individual, we feel that it is proper for us to report what we have learned to you, so that you may deal with the situation more effectively than we are able to."

As Severus spoke, he noticed Albus' expression change from calm expectation to shock to something strangely _guarded_. He's barely finished speaking when Albus says, "I see. Well, this is certainly a delicate situation. But neither of you need concern yourselves. I will handle it. And don't expect to be updated about how it goes, as this is a very private and personal situation for the student in question. Thank you for your due diligence, Severus, and I apologize that you have been involved in something so unpleasant, Draco. Have a good day now!"

And just like that, they're dismissed.

* * *

After leaving Dumbledore's office, Draco meets up with Cedric. He's relieved to stop thinking about something as unpleasant as child abuse and allow himself to instead be distracted by the warmth of Cedric's embrace that surrounds Draco a mere moment after he turns the corner.

Draco isn't sure if he's in love with Cedric. It seems like having been this close with someone for only about a week shouldn't be enough time to fall in love. But his chest feels so light whenever Cedric's near. The other boy's presence calms him like nothing else ever has. And his touch ignites the most primitive, passionate desire from Draco. His parents never exactly made him feel love, so he has nothing to compare these feelings to. He can't even use his parents as an example of what love should _look_ like. Because they certainly don't love each other, and he doubts they ever did.

"So I was thinking we could go walk around outside for a bit. It's such nice weather outside today," Cedric tells Draco as he ends their hug and slips an arm around Draco's waist.

"I would like that," Draco responds slightly breathlessly, struggling to focus on anything besides the warm feeling of the arm holding him close.

As they walk outside, Draco glimpses Harry sitting by himself under a tree. He feels an urge to go join the Gryffindor, but instead of following the urge like he would have unquestioningly about a week ago, he just tears his gaze away and squeezes Cedric's hand. This unintentionally prompts the other boy to stop and kiss him, lightly but with a promise of more to come. Such sweet moments truly make him feel like everything is fine and good in the world, offering him the kind of contentment that he's completely unfamiliar with.

Draco's too busy kissing his boyfriend to notice how Harry tenses up a few feet away when he sees the scene in front of him. He doesn't see how difficult it is for Harry to look away from him. And he certainly doesn't hear the sadness with which Harry mumbles "Draco," before finally forcing himself to close his eyes and lay his head back against the tree.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had almost known for certain that Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy had been unknowingly referencing Harry Potter during their recent visit to his office. He simply couldn't tell them so. The wizarding world would have a collective conniption if it were to become public knowledge that the Boy-Who-Lived was stuck in an abusive situation with his muggle relatives.

So it is with great resignation that he summons Harry to his office a few days later. After the boy is seated, he smiles at him as kindly as he can and asks, "So, Harry, how have you been faring this school year?"

Harry seems understandably conflicted as to how best answer the question. He settles for saying, "As well as I think can be expected given the circumstances, Professor."

Albus nods sadly. He always wishes there's more he could do for this boy who's always doing so much for others. "And . . . may I ask if you have spoken with Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy in your journal this year?"  
Harry looks surprised, but he nods in confirmation. "I have. But why do you ask?"

"They have expressed some . . . concern about your home life, Harry, based on their conversations with you in the journals. They didn't know it was you, of course, but I see that I assumed your identity correctly. I suppose I know you better than they do." He winks at Harry and chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

"Wait . . . You've known how horribly the Dursleys have treated me this whole time, and you've never done _anything _about it?"

Albus frowns. This isn't how he wants the conversation to go. He needs Harry to _understand_. "Harry, unfortunately, the Dursleys are the only living family you have. You'll be able to handle continuing to live with them, won't you?"

Harry seems to still be in shock from the original revelation of just how much Albus knows. He mutters, "Yeah, I guess. I'm sure you would've gotten me out of there already if you'd planned on doing that."

Before Albus can respond and assure Harry that despite his best judgment, he would indeed relocate Harry if the boy felt it absolutely necessary, Harry stands up abruptly.

They speak at the same time:

"Harry-"

"I'm going to go now. But before I do, I just want you to know that I think my parents would be incredibly disappointed in you."

And then he's gone. Albus sighs regretfully.

_It's for the greater good._

* * *

"No, Viktor, I'm not turning in an _unfinished_ essay just because you want to take me to Hogsmeade tonight," Hermione growls as she continues scribbling away at her parchment.

"But Hermione, I do not care if you are a perfect student or not. I will still love you," he implores.

She stops writing. "Viktor, _I_ care about being a perfect student. I'm glad you'd still love me even if I wasn't, but you have to value what I want for myself too." Hermione gives him a firm look and goes back to her essay.

But he doesn't stop there. Instead, he holds a package out to her. "I bought these robes for you. I want you to wear them to Hogsmeade tonight."

It's all just too much for her. "I am not your _doll_, Viktor. You can't just dress me up and put me where you want me. I'm staying here, in the robes I'm wearing now, and working on my essay. Please leave me alone. I'll see you tomorrow."

It seems like what she thinks of as a very reasonable statement has somehow offended him though. Because he doesn't kiss her on the cheek and leave the way he normally does when she makes this kind of request. Instead, he snatches the essay she's been working on.

Rage and adrenaline flow through her veins instantly. As much as she adores this young wizard, _no one_ will control her like this. "Give it back right now, Viktor," she demands with a steely glare.

"Only if you come to Hogsmeade with me."

"I already said no."

"Then you don't get this."

Her mouth falls agape as the paper suddenly burns in his hand. "We're done, Viktor. I don't want to see you again."

She's proud of herself for not crying until after she's out of his sight. _Stupid, stupid Hermione. You shouldn't have let yourself believe that he ever saw you as an equal rather than his plaything. You don't need romance! Not when you have your friends and your studies. Everything is fine. _

But as much as she knows that's the logical way to look at the situation, she can't stop her heart from hurting. Tears spill down her cheeks as she remembers the beautiful scene Viktor had set to ask her to go to the Yule Ball with him. Then she recalls how amazing that dance had been, better than she'd ever thought such an event could be. And after that, there had been weeks of gazing happily into each other's eyes, kissing (and even doing a bit more than that when no one else was around), holding hands whenever they could, and having intellectual battles while eating together during meals in the Great Hall.

None of those things were the actions of a controlling person. So why does he seem so different now? But neither of them can take back the conversation they've just had. She sinks down onto her bed, hoping that maybe she can wake up from this nightmare.

* * *

Harry feels like losing the friendship he'd only briefly had with Draco was a mere sign of so many more bad things to come. He's just found out that Dumbledore has known about all the horrible treatment he's suffered at the hands of the Dursleys this whole time and has done nothing about it. And now Draco is so busy making out with Cedric (more obnoxiously than even the straight couples!) that he doesn't even seem to miss Harry's company at all.

So it only makes the bad feeling in his stomach get even worse when he finds out about Hermione and Viktor's breakup. Harry has an arm around her shoulders protectively while they sit in the Great Hall for breakfast across from Ron and Fleur. When asked if she wanted to talk about it, she'd just glumly bit into an apple without saying anything. They all took that as a "no."

The only good thing about this is that at least it's distracting him from a certain Slytherin. _No! There is no "good side" to my close friend's pain,_ he berrates himself in frustration.

Breakfast passes mostly in silence. After that, Harry has some time to look at his journal again. The one thing he's happy about is that Draco has been speaking to him again through it, still without knowing it's Harry he's speaking with, of course. But they've been keeping the conversation light, and Draco doesn't respond nearly as often as he used to. Harry feels oddly like he's been replaced by Cedric, even though that comparison doesn't quite make sense.

There's also someone new that he's talking to. The only problem is that he's not as invested in this competition as he used to be. Harry has no desire to get close to _yet another_ person only to watch it all fall apart after he figures out the other person's identity. So he doesn't bother to strategize his questions and answers now. He simply asks and answers the first things that come to mind. It probably won't be long before he finally gets eliminated from this awful competition.

Now if only the Triwizard Tournament would just end already too. The hype surrounding the third task keeps putting him on edge. But of course there would be even more drama demanding his attention before even that. Harry supposes his life would just be _a little bit_ peaceful if he could enjoy some drama-free time. And the universe simply can't stand to give Harry a moment of peace, now or ever.

* * *

It turns out, Fleur had had a crush on Viktor too. Ron discovered this during a recent post-makeout session talk between the two of them. "Ron," she'd begun in her soft voice, "Have you fancied anyone besides me recently?"

Ron had panicked a bit, worried that she suspected him of cheating on her or something. "I haven't been with anyone but you since the Yule Ball," he'd said.

Perhaps he'd sounded a bit too cagey, looking back on it, because she'd pressed on. "But I have seen the way you look at Viktor. You desire him the same way you desire me." Upon seeing his look of alarm she'd added, "But don't worry, I like him too. And now that he's not with your friend Hermione anymore, perhaps we could convince him to have some fun with us, no?"

So that had left him with the uncomfortable moral dilemma of to what extent must he put his respect for a friend over his own desires. Hermione and Viktor had broken up, so they wouldn't be stealing her boyfriend or anything like that. But still, seeing her newly _ex_-boyfriend hook up with two of her close friends was unlikely to speed along her emotional recovery. It didn't help that Fleur seemed so eager to do this with him, and she kept reassuring him that Hermione would understand that it was perfectly acceptable for him to follow his own desires.

That's how he and Fleur ended up cornering Viktor in the corridor outside the Great Hall. Ron didn't think Viktor would _actually_ say yes. Perhaps that was just his hero worship of Viktor trying to convince him that Viktor would be the one with the higher moral grounds, that he'd be the one to stop this whole thing before it really started.

Except Viktor had agreed. And Fleur had taken their hands and led them into a broom cupboard somewhere. And now she's kissing him and he feels Viktor's hand on his cheek and then he's kissing Fleur's neck and suddenly Fleur pulls away and guides Viktor's mouth to his. It's everything Ron wanted for so long, but his mind is just registering that this is _wrong_ when the door to the broom cupboard is yanked open.

Draco and Cedric are standing there, bewildered. And Ron and Fleur are both still clinging to Viktor when they see Hermione abruptly appear behind them. She bounds away before any of them have time to say anything.

* * *

Hermione comes to him, sobbing. Harry had thought she was doing better recently. She'd been smiling more and didn't seem to stare longingly at Viktor every time he was within eyesight anymore. But now she seems as upset as she did the day they broke up, if not even more so.

"What happened, Hermione?" he asks in concern.

"RonandFleurandViktorinthebroomclosetIjustcan'thandle―" she babbles at the speed of light before sobs overwhelm her once more. He pats her back soothingly (at least, he _hopes_ the gesture comes across as soothing). Now doesn't seem like the time to demand clarification about what she'd just said. "It just h-hurt so much that th-they w-would d-do something s-so c-cruel and inconsiderate!" she cries into his shoulder.

When Ron, Viktor, and Fleur all stumble around the corner of the library towards them, it all makes a lot more sense. Harry's shocked to see Fleur's pink lipstick smeared across both Ron's and Viktor's faces. All of their hair and clothes appear a bit disheveled from wandering hands. Harry looks aghast from the three of them back to Hermione, who's stopped sobbing but turned decidedly away from them. Harry's no genius, but luckily it doesn't take a genius to figure out what's happened that's gotten her so distraught.

"I think you guys should go," he says coolly.

"Hermione―" Viktor and Ron begin pleadingly.

"Stop," Harry declares more forcefully and glares at them. His hand moves to his wand as he hugs Hermione closer.

They seem like they want to stay and talk to Hermione, especially Ron and Viktor, but they do listen to him and leave.

After that, Harry walks Hermione back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Along the way, he talks with her about random things, like what the house elves do with all the leftovers from all their meals. The conversation seems to have her in a slightly better mood, but he's still relieved when Fay Dunbar takes her upstairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry doesn't have much experience comforting heartbroken girls, after all.

While his mind is still distracted by Hermione's situation, he does some more writing in his journal. His current partner has been asking him all kinds of in-depth questions about his life, which he's happy enough to blandly answer while only asking basic questions in return. He and Draco are having a slightly more enjoyable conversation about love and how to recognize it. Harry tries not to think about how the topic being brought up by Draco means that he probably thinks he might be in love with Cedric. It's none of his business, and why should he care if Draco loves Cedric?

* * *

The next morning's breakfast is incredibly awkward. Harry had hoped that he and Hermione wouldn't be stuck at their usual spots across from Ron and Fleur, but they'd gotten to the Great Hall so late that those were the only available seats left. She avoids looking at them as best she can, though it's clear to Harry that they keep trying to catch her eyes.

Eventually, Fleur breaks the silence by saying Harry's name. He startles a bit, surprised that he's the one she'd want to talk to out of the three of them. "My sister Gabrielle says that it's been nice getting to know you in the journal," she says with a smirk.

It takes Harry a moment to register what she means, and when it finally clicks in his brain, he's really just relieved. He quickly opens his journal and sees **You are Harry Potter** written there.

Harry's participation in the journal competition is finally over. Only the third task is left for him to endure.

Though it feels like there's chaos all around him, Harry takes a deep breath. _Everything is fine._ (Things have never felt further from it.)


	11. Chapter 11: I Love You

_"You don't realize how much your life means to you until someone tries to take it away."_

_-Epitaph_

Draco wakes up feeling anxious. Today is the day of the third task. And while Cedric's performed wonderfully in both of the two previous tasks, he can't help but worry. It doesn't even particularly matter to him who wins; he just wants Cedric ('_and Harry too!'_ adds a little voice in his head) to be okay.

First, he has to force his breathing to regulate enough for him to feel comfortable getting out of bed and making himself visible to the other boys in his dormitory. (Draco can never stand to present a less-than-perfect image.) Then he struggles to still his trembling hands enough to actually get himself dressed and ready to head down to the Great Hall for breakfast. When he finally gets there, he faces his most difficult challenge yet: forcing himself to stomach some food while Cedric sits right next to him.

Normally, the other boy's presence next to him is immensely reassuring. But today, it seems to have the opposite effect on Draco. As he thinks about the possibility of anything bad happening to Cedric, he feels constricted by the realization that he's come to rely so much on someone else. This was never meant to happen. Never getting too attached to anything always meant that he never had much to worry about losing. But now, he has everything to lose.

"Are you alright, Draco?" Cedric suddenly asks in concern.

Draco is pulled out of his thoughts and forces a smile on his face. "Yes, of course. I'm just so excited to see you win the Triwizard Tournament is all. My father will be thrilled to have you over for dinner after today, I'm sure."

Cedric laughs. "Well I'd love to go to Malfoy Manor. But I'd be there for _you_, not your father." He winks at Draco, making the boy's heart skip a beat.

Reaching out a hand, the Hufflepuff pulls him to his feet. It's time for everyone to start making their way to the location of the third task. Draco holds Cedric's hand the entire way there, trying his best to ensure that he doesn't clutch the other boy's hand too tightly for comfort. All too soon, they reach the Champions' Tent, where Cedric and Draco have to part ways.

Before Draco can say anything, Cedric gently places a hand on his cheek. "I know we're both young and it's soon for me to say this, but I can't help myself. I love you, Draco Lucius Malfoy.." He presses their lips together for a short but passionate kiss then backs away from Draco with a blindingly brilliant smile.

It takes Draco until he's seated in the crowd with his father to realize that he never said the words back to Cedric.

* * *

Harry isn't particularly looking forward to the third task, but at the same time, he's relieved that all of this will finally be over.

Hermione and Ron had both fervently wished him good luck this morning, though they did it separately. All these friendship strains have been so frustrating lately. He just hopes that everything can go back to normal after the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students leave Hogwarts.

Soon the time comes for him to line up in front of the maze's entrance with Cedric, Victor, and Fleur. He's gotten to know them all much more than he ever thought he would. And he can't say that he has clear opinions of any of them. Cedric is the nicest but reminds him too much of Draco. Fleur and Victor both seemed like good partners for Ron and Hermione, but then all of that fell apart.

So he focuses instead on the task ahead. Rules and instructions are read aloud for what feels like ages. Then, finally, it's announced that he and Cedric are tied so far and therefore get to enter the maze first. When their cue goes off, they both run inside together.

Immediately, the path splits. Harry chooses to go left, while Cedric runs right. As he gets deeper into the hedged maze, it seems to get darker and more ominous. The triumphant music that was being played right outside the maze has been replaced with only the rustling wind and resulting crinkling of the hedges.

Harry only has a moment to wonder why the rustling seems to have suddenly gotten louder and louder before he finds himself abruptly falling face-down into the ground. He tries to haul himself back to his feet, but he feels himself get yanked back by something wrapped around his ankle. Twisting to look at it, he notices that it appears to be the hedge itself that's attacking him. He manages to cast a quick slicing spell that separates the vine wrapped around his ankle from the rest of the hedge. It gives him enough time to jump to his feet and hastily run forwards.

He keeps running as quickly as he can while still keeping an eye out for more vengeful vines. He's decided that his strategy is to follow the left wall of the maze. He's pretty sure that he heard somewhere that that's how you're supposed to solve a maze, and it's reassuring to have at least some kind of plan.

Harry just hopes that this maze hasn't hurt any of the other Champions.

* * *

Fleur was the last one to enter the maze, so she's not surprised that she hasn't seen any of the other Champions in it yet. She just hopes that none of them have gotten to the Cup already. She can only pray that if they do (which she's almost certain they will), the professors will get her out of here somehow. Fleur doesn't want to be stuck in this unsettling place for a moment longer than necessary. That's even more of a concern to her than losing the Triwizard Tournament, which is perhaps a little sad now that she thinks about it. Her attitude is certainly not the one Viktor would have. (But as she keeps reminding herself, Fleur _isn't_ Viktor. She doesn't need to be fierce like him to be a person worth her own respect.)

Part of her wishes that she will be the one to win, of course. Ron hasn't been very happy with her ever since following along with her suggestion to seduce Viktor landed him in huge trouble with his friend Hermione. But Ron's a huge fan of the Triwizard Tournament, so winning it would ideally remind him of how much he admires her. The only problem with that plan is that Fleur is in last place. She's the least likely to win out of all of them. It'll probably be Viktor or Harry. She hopes it's Harry. Ron would probably be the least upset with that outcome.

But sometimes it seems like _everything_ upsets him. She'd overheard a bit about how upset he'd been with Harry for no reason other than him being unwillingly selected to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. And of course, Ron had complained to her about Harry spending time with Draco Malfoy with a bitterness that she simply didn't understand. Fleur has plenty of friends at Beauxbatons, and none of them have ever been so jealous and petty and _unpredictable_. But they've also never excited her as much as this red-haired boy has and does.

After a few vines nearly kill her, she mentally curses herself for getting as caught up in her thoughts as she always does. _This is why you'll never be the best, Fleur._

A few minutes later (or maybe a great many minutes later―she really has no idea), she stumbles upon Victor. She's about to either greet him politely or just take the opposite turn as him (she hasn't yet decided which), when suddenly a dementor races towards them. She feels her heart sink as she remembers that she's never successfully cast a Patronus before. She's still staring at it, frozen with fear, as yet another vine slams her hard against the ground. As she thrashes against it, she feels her head violently smash against the ground. Fleur vaguely hears Victor yell "Riddikulus!" at what must be a Boggart. Then he's at her side. But she can't help him free her. Everything's already started to turn black when she sees a flare shoot into the sky.

* * *

At the end of it all, it's Harry and Cedric, running side by side towards the Cup. Part of Harry wants to try to race ahead and take the victory for himself. But then he remembers all the Champions standing and holding hands before the second task began and how that camaraderie has never turned sour. He remembers how he and Cedric teamed up in the lake to both help Fleur and get Cho and Ron to the surface. He remembers the _smile_ on Draco's face when Cedric was beside him during the past few weeks.

_Cedric deserves to win._ At the last moment, Harry holds back from grabbing the Cup. But Cedric says, "Harry, you deserve this too! Take it with me." With vines whipping all around them, Harry doesn't really have time to think about it. He just makes eye contact with Cedric and nods. They make contact with the Cup simultaneously and disappear.

Harry has just a split second to think to himself that the Cup being a portkey makes sense: it's an easy way to get the winner out of the maze and take them to where the eager crowd awaits. . . .

His thoughts trail off as he realizes that he and Victor have not been transported to that location. No celebratory music hails their arrival to this place. Instead, they're somewhere even darker and more ominous than the maze had been. Headstones surround them, so they must be in some sort of cemetery.

_But why?_

This place feels almost familiar, like he's been here before. _Perhaps in a dream. . . . _ That's when his scar starts to throb. "Cedric," Harry starts to say, looking for where the Cup had rolled off to, hoping they could leave as easily as they'd arrived.

All of a sudden, he hears the pop of apparition. A cloaked figure appears a few feet away, and a giant black cauldron separates him from Cedric. The cloaked figure is holding something, but Harry can't tell what it is. Something deep within him tells him that he doesn't want to know.

"The Cup!" Harry screams at Cedric, panicked. They need to leave _now._

Cedric just stares at him, probably in shock. "Harry, what's going-"

That's when the green light hits him. Harry hadn't seen it coming. He'd been too focused on Cedric, willing the other boy to grab the Cup Harry had just noticed behind him. A grave mistake on his part. He watches in horror as Cedric crumples to the ground, dead. Harry falls to his knees too, unable to focus on anything beyond the fact that _his classmate is lying there dead. _And Cedric is (_was_) good, so purely good, not at all someone who should be dead right now at only age 17.

"Hello, Harry. How nice of you to join us!" croons a voice then. It sends a chill down Harry's spine. He knows that voice belongs to Peter Pettigrew. The pain in his scar is rapidly increasing, which makes him think that the thing cradled in Wormtail's arms must be . . . _Voldemort._ He tries to sprint to Cedric and the Cup, but Voldemort's croony stops him by waving his wand and trapping Harry in the grip of a Grim Reaper statue.

Pettigrew carefully walks over and drops Voldemort's remains into the cauldron. "I will now give you all that you need to take a proper form again, Master," he whispers, just loudly enough for Harry to hear. His wand is lying on the ground and his arms are restrained so that all he can do is watch helplessly as the man adds a bone from Tom Riddle, Sr. into the cauldron, cuts off his own hand, and even cuts Harry's arm deeply. He collects a vial of blood, which he then drops into the cauldron as well. The whole time a sickly grin remains plastered on his face.

Harry wishes he could disappear as he sees Voldemort rise from the cauldron. His skin is white, his features unnervingly disfigured. Harry knows that when Voldemort had been Tom Riddle, his appearance had been deceptively attractive. But at least now this marred body now suits the mangled soul that resides within it.

He almost breathes a sigh of relief when Voldemort doesn't immediately turn to him. But he doesn't want to give Voldemort any further reason to pay him any attention, so he keeps absolutely still and quiet as the dark wizard presses the Dark Mark on Peter Pettigrew's arm. In just a few moments, dark swirls appear as Death Eaters arrive. Harry can't identify who any of them are, as they're all wearing their usual black cloaks and sinister masks.

But Voldemort doesn't leave him wondering at their identities for long. "My _loyal_ followers," he sneers at them. "Where have you all been during these last 14 years? Your Master has returned, no thanks to any of you. Except one." With that, he turns to Wormtail. "Your loyalty will be repaid. Here is a new hand in honor of your service," Voldemort says as he brandishes his wand. A silvery substance appears in the air, which then forms itself into the shape of a hand. The hand attaches itself to Peter Pettigrew's stump. Harry hates to say anything nice about the guy who wants him dead, but his transfiguration skill is excellent to be able to so easily create such a perfect replacement.

After giving everyone a moment to admire his work, Voldemort turns back to his assembled Death Eaters. He viciously reaches out and snatches the mask away from the man nearest to him as he snarls, "Crabbe!" The man crumples to the ground. Voldemort goes down the line, calling out name after name, tearing masks away.

"Goyle!"

"Nott!"

"Malfoy!"

"Avery!"

"Rosier!"

"Macnair!"

"Lestrange!"

He pauses dramatically as they all quiver on the ground in a circle around him. "You all left me while the boy Harry Potter lived. I hope for your sake that such thoughts of abandonment never occur to any of you again."

Harry's heart sinks as Voldemort approaches him now. Blinding pain sears through him as the Dark Lord presses a long finger against his scar. "You may have bested me several times before, Potter. But you are a mere boy. And I have been restored to my former glory." He suddenly reaches out and tears aside the scythe that had been holding Harry in place. "You will duel me, Potter. And I will win, once and for all, as it has always been destined to be."

Falling to the ground, Harry scrambles to grab his wand. But before he can raise it to cast any sort of spell, Voldemort yells out, "_Crucio!_" Every nerve in Harry's body feels as if it's been set on fire. The pain is more intense than anything he's ever felt before. And he can't think about anything at all outside of the overwhelming misery he feels. His mind howls in agony, agony that he just wishes would _end._ Please, please, _please_ make it stop. He can't bear a moment longer―

And then it stops. Harry collapses against the ground, too weak to do anything else. He feels as though his mind has fled his body. His awareness of the situation has absconded him to the point where he feels only half-present, still encased in lingering pain.

That's when Voldemort casts another spell. "_Imperio!_" And with that, he drags Harry to his feet, wand still in hand. Never in his life did Harry think someone would be this _insane_.

"Fight me, Potter." Voldemort grins maniacally, with the giddiness of someone prepared to eat their favorite meal. Harry can't think of anything he has less desire to participate in.

But regardless, he aims his wand and says, "_Stupify!_" It's not like he has a choice. The Imperius Curse is still influencing his actions. So as exhausted as he is, both mentally and physically, he fights his enemy.

Voldemort laughs and casually brushes the spell off to the side. Harry feels a glimmer of satisfaction as he sees it hit Lucius Malfoy, who had just risen to his feet to watch the duel. But Harry's distraction means that he barely has time to jump to the side as Voldemort throws a vicious slicing spell at him. Definitely Dark Magic.

Harry next casts a blinding spell, but Voldemort simply throws up a shield last minute. The spell hits it head-on and quickly fizzles out.

"Is this the best you can do, Potter?" he cackles. Then he suddenly sends a frenzy of spells Harry's way. He doesn't have time to contemplate what they are; he just conjures a shield of his own. Except the volume and strength of the spells slamming against it start to create cracks in the shield. It'll break momentarily, and Harry's dead if he loses this duel.

So right before the shield would've broken anyway, Harry purposefully dissolves it and sends the most powerful Confringo Curse he can muster. It's more violent than Harry would normally consider using, but it is _Voldemort_ he's facing right now. And the Imperius Curse won't let him hold back much.

A split second after casting the spell, one of Voldemort's spells hits his stomach. It instantly causes a stabbing burning sensation to arise. But luckily he has enough adrenaline to fuel him to run past Voldemort towards Cedric's body and the Cup.

But the Confringo only seems to impress Voldemort, and a Death Eater unfamiliar to Harry grabs his arm and prevents him from getting far. The Death Eater backs away from him right as Voldemort starts to cast another spell. Harry can't explain how, but he knew exactly what spell it was going to be. So he simultaneously shouts "_Expelliarmus!_" Voldemort's green spell meets his red one, and then they're locked in a contest of wills, each trying to will their curse to overpower the other.

Harry doesn't particularly feel the need to stick this out. Not when he's surrounded by Death Eaters and already injured. So after a few moments of holding off the Killing Curse, he breaks off the connection and lunges to the side. The unfortunate Death Eater who'd been standing behind him receives the full force of the deadly spell. But Harry can't afford to spare a moment to regret that right now.

He dashes to Cedric's body. It feels wrong to leave him here. The Hufflepuff doesn't deserve to be dead, let alone abandoned to rest next to a Death Eater. So he pulls Cedric's body towards him in a sort of embrace and screams, "_Accio_ Cup!"

The Cup flies to his hand, but it does so right as yet another spell hits him.

* * *

The crowd is beginning to grow restless, as they've all been sitting there over an hour with no updates on a winner. Draco is just about to lean over to ask his father what would happen if none of the Champions make it to the Cup, when suddenly, Harry Potter appears in the clearing in front of the maze's entrance. (And also Draco notices that his father doesn't appear to be sitting beside him anymore, which is odd.)

Harry's clutching, the Cup, Draco notes hollowly. But he can't really bring himself to care about that when he sees what else the boy is holding: _Cedric_.

Luckily for them, no one even tries to stop Draco from bolting towards the pair and tearing Cedric from Harry. His heart catches in his chest when he notices the absence of a heartbeat. "How could you let this happen?" he demands, staring at Harry with daggers in his eyes and sharp ice in his voice.

That's when he notices the terrible state Harry's in. He looks as though he's been in some sort of intense duel. And perhaps he has . . .

More gently this time, Draco asks "What happened, Harry?"

There's fear and sadness in Harry's eyes. His voice is shaky and hardly even a whisper as he replies, "Voldemort's back."

Draco's eyes widen in shock, but he says nothing.

Harry raises his voice so that the whole crowd can hear him. "Voldemort's back!" he cries. Then his eyes roll back in his head, as if summoning that much volume had taken the last of his strength, and Draco has just a moment to swoop an arm around the dark-haired boy's shoulders before he hits the ground.

Chaos erupts in the crowd. But Draco feels empty as he clutches two boys, one of whom will never awaken again, but both of whom he can't seem to let go of.

"I love you," he whispers. But it's too late. No one hears his confession. _He's utterly alone._


	12. Chapter 12: Pros and Cons

_Life is a game. You can be a player or a toy. _

_-Unknown_

When Harry wakes up, he's lying on a cot in the Hospital Wing. When she notices him stirring, Madam Pomfrey rushes over and immediately offers him a few healing potions to drink. "You gave us all quite a scare, Mr. Potter!" she reprimands him fretfully.

"S-sorry," he mumbles groggily, still struggling to keep his eyes open. Harry tries to sit up a bit, but a searing pain in his stomach makes him give up with a whimper that he tries to conceal. But within seconds, Madam Pomfrey is lifting his shirt to examine the wound that lurks angrily beneath.

"You must have been hit with a particularly nasty curse," she tuts at him as she removes an old bandage. Harry notices that the blood―_his blood_―had soaked all the way through it. The moment she touches a cleaning cloth to his abdomen, it feels as though a hive of bees are all stinging that spot simultaneously. He clenches his fists at his side and tries to keep his breathing steady.

However, his discomfort doesn't go unnoticed, as the healer pats his wrist sympathetically and says, "I tried healing the wound with magic, but it was a Dark curse that inflicted this upon you. I'm afraid that the only way to heal it is going to be the Muggle way. You're going to be stuck here for another few days."

Harry leans back in the small, cramped bed. _Great._ He'd sigh dramatically and complain if he wasn't in so much damn pain.

* * *

They'd had to practically tear the bodies away from him eventually. Even then, Draco only let go because his father unexpectedly grabbed him from behind and prevented him from tackling Dumbledore as he tore Cedric's body out of his tight grip.

He'd been so caught up in his emotions that he didn't notice until much later that the spell he'd put on the bracelet for his "friend" from the journal had been signaling him that its owner was injured. When he had calmed down just enough to notice that ringing in his head, it pushed him over the edge all over again. _I'm so useless I couldn't even protect Cedric, _he'd thought to himself. _No wonder the guy from the journal kept his distance after learning my identity. The only person who cared about me is _dead_. _

Without knowing how else to cope with the terrifying intensity of his thoughts and feelings, Draco chose isolation. No one bothered him if they knew what was good for them. And if they didn't, he quickly showed them.

But then, he heard the whispers that Harry Potter had woken up and would recover. No one had been entirely sure that he would survive the curses that had been sent his way, until now. And while the pain and loneliness still threaten to crush him every moment, whether he's asleep or awake, this news allows him to breathe out and release a tiny bit of that heavy weight which had been bearing down so heavily upon him.

He can still feel the phantom trace of Cedric's hand in his hair, grazing his cheek, tugging at his arm to pull him out of bed. Draco feels a single tear slip down his face as he realizes that he'll never truly feel those tender touches again. Cedric was the only person who'd ever seemed to truly _see_ him. And he'd told Draco that he loved what he saw.

But Draco was selfish. He'd taken all that love and never even said "I love you" in return.

* * *

By the time Harry's finally allowed to walk out of the Hospital Wing, he'd begun to forget about Voldemort and everything that had happened this school year. But it all catches up with him again as Hermione flies into his arms the moment he's clear of Madam Pomfrey's vigilant watch.

"I tried to visit you so many times, but that monster of a woman wouldn't let anyone in to see you. I'm so sorry, Harry. I hope you didn't think I was abandoning you. It's just that-" she breaks off to inhale, and Harry feels a smile grace his face for the first time since before the third task.

"Breathe, Hermione. I'm not mad at you," he reassures her.

She smiles back at him in relief, but the smile fades as she looks at something over Harry's shoulder. He turns to see what's caught her eye.

It's Ron. His bright red hair shining in the afternoon sunlight that's streaming in from the castle's large windows. But his face is just as crestfallen as Hermione's. For a few moments, Harry looks back and forth between the two of them. The hurt that they both clearly feel, and the vulnerability they allow themselves to feel over it. At least Harry envies the fact that stealing an ex-lover is the biggest obstacle they have between each other. He doesn't know how he is ever going to be able to face Draco after what happened to Cedric.

_Draco._ Harry's blood goes cold, and his heart might as well just stop beating now. The Slytherin, despite the animosity he'd had with Harry in the past, had done so much for him this year, during the Triwizard Tournament. They were even what Harry would call friends, for a while at least. And it really only stopped because Harry pulled away after learning that he'd been getting close with him in the journal as well. But no matter what, Harry had just wanted Draco to be happy. And there's no way that he's happy when Cedric, who'd put the most beautiful smiles on Draco's face, is now dead.

While Harry's thoughts distracted him, Hermione and Ron appeared to have a silent conversation, as only people who have been close friends for years can do. Hermione drags Harry out of his thought by giving him another hug and whispering, "I'll see you in the Common Room later," before hurrying back the way she'd came, without so much as another glance at Ron.

"Hey, Harry," Ron begins, more subdued than Hermione was when she first saw him. But Harry doesn't mind. He walks over to Ron and embraces the redhead himself. Ron returns the hug, seemingly a bit assuaged that Harry'd been happy to make up for his own lack of immediate affection. "I was worried about you, mate," Ron chokes out. Harry realizes that the other boy is shaking and maybe even crying a bit, and it occurs to him that he's never seen his friend so openly distraught.

"I'm okay, Ron. And it wouldn't have been your fault even if I wasn't." Harry is content to hold Ron close until the trembling stops and his friend pulls away.

They begin to walk back towards the Common Room together, Harry eager to finally see his own bed again, when he notices that yet another person has been waiting to reunite with him. Ron follows Harry's gaze to Draco Malfoy. Without Harry having to say anything, Ron seems to understand that Harry needs to do this alone, because he just nods and squeezes Harry's shoulder before continuing on alone.

Harry takes a deep breath and focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, until he's only a few feet away from Draco's heartbreakingly familiar face.

* * *

When Draco sees Harry, alive and well, he can't help but feel a flash of enraged frustration that _Harry_, the golden boy, is the one who gets to live, while _Cedric_, the sweetest boy in all of Hufflepuff, is dead.

But then Draco remembers how Harry had helped him out of that embarrassing situation where Professor Moody had transfigured him into a ferret. If the situation had been the other way around, it's unlikely that Draco would have shown Harry the same kindness and compassion. In fact, there were plenty of situations throughout their school years together where Draco treated Harry with contempt instead of kindness. And yet Harry chose to be the better person. Exactly the way that Cedric would have, had he found himself in a position like that.

He still doesn't really know why Harry had seemed to be avoiding him before the third task. Perhaps it was because Draco began to be so publicly affectionate with Cedric around that time that Harry simply felt unwelcome. Or maybe it was Ron and Hermonie that kept Harry away from him. So he decides to give Harry the benefit of the doubt. "When you portkeyed back with Cedric, after you made your announcement about Voldemort returning, you just sort of collapsed. I thought you were both dead."

Harry's face appears ashen, like the idea of Draco's pain truly hurts him. That intrigues Draco, but before he can give it much thought, the other boy has closed the distance between the two of them. Harry's arms around him are strong and comforting. His body is warm and firm, very much _alive_, the physical reminder of which sends a pleasant shiver down Draco's spine.

He was never exposed to much affectionate physical contact as a child, so perhaps that's why he's grown to secretly crave it, even though it's not a luxury that he allows himself to take advantage of often. Cedric had given Draco so much of it that its absence now makes him feel lonelier than he ever did before Cedric. So Draco tries not to be mad at himself for enjoying the touch of someone who isn't Cedric. It feels like a betrayal, but he knows it isn't. _It isn't._

"Thank you for being there for me this year, despite everything. And I'm so sorry about Cedric. If I could've been the one to-" he breaks off, withdrawing his arms from around Draco to wipe at his eyes. "I would've taken his place. He deserves to be here with you right now, and I'm sorry that he's not."

Draco finds himself nodding. Nothing can change the fact that Cedric's gone. And Harry's never been a good liar. His eyes are red, and he's practically sobbing. It's obvious that he means every word. So Draco allows himself the luxury of physical contact with another human one more time. He places one hand on Harry's jaw, turning his head so that he can lean forward just so and hover his lips just above the boy's ear, where he whispers, "Don't you leave me too."

One of the deepest blushes he's ever seen blooms across Harry's face. Draco raises his eyebrows curiously. It couldn't possibly be that Harry… _likes_ him. That would just be an arrogant and outrageous assumption to make. But still, perhaps Draco can offer them both the pleasant distraction of flirtation. As long as Harry is amenable, of course.

So right before he turns to go, he gently takes Harry's hand, mockingly bows, and presses a gentlemanly kiss to Harry's hand as though he were a lady of high social status. "I hope you have a most wonderful summer and that I shall have the pleasure of your company here at Hogwarts again in the fall."

Harry's mouth is literally agape at this point. To be fair, Draco is acting very differently towards him. But it feels like it's either pulling Harry in with this empty flirtation or pushing him away by revealing the true depths of his despair over the loss of Cedric. And while Draco doesn't want a new romance, not even with this adorably blushing boy, he's terrified of the loneliness that's constantly on the verge of overwhelming him. He sends a wink Harry's way, before turning on his heel and practically sashaying away.

* * *

Eventually, Harry really does find himself in the Gryffindor Common Room, after being stopped by dozens of people either reassuring him that they believe him or sympathetically telling him that the "nausea and hallucinations that the portkey caused" will probably wear off soon. He tries not to dwell too much on what it could mean. At least not yet. He knows that sooner or later, he's going to have to figure out everything that happened while he was in and out of consciousness the past few days.

But before he deals with whatever chaos the news of Voldemort's return has wrought, he has another task to accomplish. One that's been a while coming. Harry positions the pillows in his bed in such a way that they prop up his head and shoulders just enough so that he can comfortably write in bed.

On a blank piece of parchment, Harry scribbles across the top: "_Pros and Cons of Draco Malfoy."_ His quill nearly tears through the parchment as he angrily underlines the heading in black ink. Draco's flirtatious wink and trembling touches have been on his mind ever since their earlier encounter. Harry's heart had been beating so loudly then he'd been certain the Slytherin must have heard it too.

But the despair and vulnerability on Draco's face in that same encounter had made Harry's heart nearly stop with dread. If he could, he would allow his own heart to stop beating if it would mean Cedric's would start again. If it would make Draco happy.

But for now, Harry just needs to get his thoughts down in writing. They're currently overcrowding his brain to the point where he worries they'll just take it over completely. And even though Harry's pretty sure Draco had been flirting with him, he probably doesn't actually want a Gryffindor chasing after him. Harry had been watching Draco's eyes the whole time. The despair never left them. It seemed like shallow flirtation was just Draco's chosen coping mechanism. And despite knowing how awful being in Draco's position must feel, it still stings a bit that Draco only wanted to flirt with him as a distraction.

_Focus!_ Harry berates himself.

He inks another line into his parchment, this one vertically separating the remaining blank space in half. "_Pros,"_ he labels one side, and "_cons"_ the other.

Starting with the pros, he just scribbles bullet point after bullet point into the column:

_He helped me all throughout the Triwizard Tournament._

_He was there for me as a friend when Ron and Hermione weren't._

_He's undeniably attractive. _

_He likes me for me, and I know that because he was my friend in the journal too._

And then the cons began flowing from his hand straight to the other column:

_Draco spent years bullying Ron, Hermione, and me. They'll never forgive him, even if I have._

_His family are closely involved with Voldemort. I saw Lucius in the graveyard that day. _

_He can be an arrogant prick._

_Draco was in love with Cedric and still would be if it wasn't for me. Draco will probably never be able to look at me without remembering that too._

The hand Harry had been writing with had started cramping, so he takes a moment to gently massage it while perusing what he's written so far. It's pathetic, all in all. So much so that he feels a white hot flare of anger towards himself for _being_ like this. The next thing he knows, he's storming down the stairs back to the Common Room, clutching the piece of parchment in his fist. He almost casts it into the flames that still roar hungrily in the fireplace even this late at night.

But something stops him. Not some world-shattering revelation. Not divine intervention. Not a sudden interruption from a fellow Gryffindor. No, the decision to move his hand (and therefore the parchment within its grasp) away from the fire is entirely his own. He just has a feeling that this isn't over yet. That he shouldn't try to force the situation to be anything other than what it is.

* * *

After seeing encountering Harry again for the first time since Draco had held him on the ground and feared him to be dead along with Cedric, the overwhelming despair he'd felt faded into something else. His current emotional state could be described as bloodthirsty. Bitter. Empty. There's a hole inside of him that won't go away. Maybe revenge will fill it, maybe it won't. Draco doesn't really care about that. He just can't let the ones responsible for Cedric's death go unpunished.

He could easily blame Harry and focus on that. After all, the stupid boy could've just grabbed the Cup before Cedric and entered the graveyard alone. Voldemort wouldn't even be returning at all if it weren't for that fateful night with Harry years ago. Many people would hold Harry responsible for everything Voldemort-related.

But Draco's always prided himself on being a bit more logical than that. He won't settle for simply choosing the easiest target to blame. Oh no. He knows where the blame really lies for Cedric's death. And _those_ are the people who will pay for it. It's very likely to be a suicide mission, this revenge of his.

Fortunately for Draco, he doesn't care whether he lives to see the aftermath of his vengeance. Only that Peter Pettigrew, Voldemort, and every other bloody Death Eater (including his own goddamn father) are destroyed. He'll blaze a trail through fire, storm, and blood to reach the day where that happens. _Whatever it takes._

The best way to bring down any organization is from the inside. Knowing such things is what makes Draco a stellar Slytherin. So the first thing he does when he gets home from Hogwarts for the summer is go straight to his father. Inwardly, he's recoiling in hatred at the very idea of becoming a part of the thing he hates most in all the world. But his outward appearance is so calm, so refined, that even Lucius Malfoy, a fine Slytherin in his own right, would suspect no such thing.

"Father, I wish to join you."

Lucius Malfoy raises his eyebrows in apparent surprise. "Join me in what, Draco?"

Draco smirks knowingly, giving off his best fake aura of vague excitement. "Serving our Dark Lord."


	13. Chapter 13: Number Four, Privet Drive

_The light came into the darkness, and the darkness did not understand it._

_\- John 1:5_

The Dursleys' house has never been Harry's home. After all, homes are supposed to make people feel safe and relaxed. It might be accurate to call Hogwarts Harry's home. But certainly not Number Four, Privet Drive. There, Harry has only ever experienced discomfort at best and torment at worst.

His fourth year at Hogwarts was incredibly eventful, from his participation in the Triwizard Tournament to Voldemort's return to the changes in his relationship with Draco Malfoy. . . . It's still all a bit overwhelming to think about. But what's really bothering him now as he sits on his bed in what used to be Dudley's second bedroom isn't any of those things, significant as they were. Instead, a single, surprising conversation lingers in his mind:

"_May I come in, Professor?" Harry asks as he knocks on the doorframe of Dumbledore's office. He'd helped himself up the passageway, since the password had still been the same as the last time he had visited Dumbledore in his office._

"_Of course, Harry. Sit down and have a lemon drop!" The twinkling in the headmaster's eyes offers Harry reassurance. He takes a deep breath, a bit of his worry subsiding, and settles into a seat across from Dumbledore. _

"_I know we had a discussion about this earlier, Professor, but . . . I really don't want to go back to the Dursleys this summer," he blurts. _

_Dumbledore's face closes off from him. Harry's heart thuds heavily in his chest as he can already tell what answer the man is going to give him. The one he dreads._

"_Harry," Dumbledore sighs, "I wish there was a better option for you. But we've both agreed that the Dursleys' home is the best place for you to stay over the summer."_

_Harry can't just accept this. If he just explains himself better, Dumbledore will understand and let him leave. He _has _to. "But that's just it, Professor. Their home isn't _my _home. _Hogwarts _is my home. Can't I stay here over the summer? Please, I could make myself useful_―"

"_No, Harry. No students are allowed to remain here over the summer."_

"_Alright, well what if I stayed with Sirius then? I'm sure he would_―"

"_We've discussed that before as well, Harry. It's not safe for you to be with him. He's still a wanted criminal." The firmness in his voice forces Harry to accept that this conversation is over, and he'll be spending his summer with the Dursleys after all._

So Harry's been left to mull over how Dumbledore of all people could knowingly leave him trapped in this situation. He knows he's been spending way too much time dwelling on negativity, but he can't seem to avoid it lately.

It doesn't help his mood that the school term has been over for two weeks already, and he still hasn't received a single letter from Ron or Hermione. In past summers, they were all sending letters to each other within a couple days of getting home.

If it wasn't for Draco, he's not sure how he'd be mentally sane right now. They'd been continuing their conversation in the journals, though Harry still hasn't told Draco his own identity. He couldn't handle it if he told Draco and then the other boy was so upset with Harry for hiding this from him for so long that he stopped talking to Harry altogether. It would break Harry's already fragile psyche.

Thoughts of platinum blond hair and piercing grey eyes are the solace he turns to when he's in the midst of trying to fall asleep while his body aches from the bruises recently inflicted on it. He feasts on those thoughts when he's forced to go several days without any real sustenance. Every kind word Draco's ever said to him, he drinks like honey when water is denied to him.

But some wounds are too deep for even the beauty of Draco Malfoy to heal all on its own.

* * *

The first major incident of the summer occurred when Petunia noticed that Harry hadn't started doing the dusting since he got back. It wasn't even that he'd purposefully chosen not to do it. He'd simply forgotten that the Dursleys expected it of him. After all, no one does dusting by hand at Hogwarts.

When she stormed into his room early on a Tuesday morning, with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised pointedly, his heart immediately began beating faster in his chest.

"Harry Potter," she'd said, her face pinched tightly. "You haven't been doing your chores. Don't think I don't notice it when you don't pull your own weight in this household. Just because you have the same witchy powers that my sister did doesn't mean that either of you are any better than us! In fact, you and your kind are just freaks. And around here, _freaks_ do the chores."

"But, I―I've been doing all the chores," Harry stammers, hating the way he can't quite bring himself to look into her eyes.

"Vernon!" she calls shrilly. It takes all of Harry's willpower to remain sitting completely still instead of scooting as far back against the wall as he can.

His uncle's large frame quickly appears beside Petunia's in Harry's room. "What is it, darling?" he asks her gruffly.

"The boy claims that he's been doing all his chores ever since he got back!" she laughs.

Vernon slowly turns to face Harry, causing his whole body to tense up, urging him to give in to his fight-or-flight instincts. "We all know you're a liar, _freak_."

Before Harry can once again profess his honesty, Vernon's already closed the distance between them. He punches Harry in the face once, hard. Harry clutches his face, but then immediately drops his hand when he feels how much it hurts to be touched there.

They throw a dustpan and duster at him before they leave the room. And it's not until that moment that Harry even realizes he had forgotten to do the dusting.

His face hurts badly enough that he decides to use one of the healing potions he'd managed to smuggle out of Hogwarts when the summer rolled around. So Harry locates a potion that takes the form of a pale blue cream and rubs it gently into the left side of his face, where Vernon had hit him. To distract himself, he remembered the odd story of how he'd ended up with such high-quality healing potions:

_A few days before everyone had to leave for the summer, Harry opens his journal, relieved that they'd been allowed to keep them even after the tournament was over. But instead of flipping open to a new message from Draco like he'd expected, the journal shows him his conversation with Snape. Harry hadn't responded to any of the professor's messages since he guessed Snape's identity, so the professor hadn't written anything to him in a few months. _

_But there's a new message waiting for him now, and it reads: __**Before you go home for the summer, make sure you're prepared for whatever awaits you. I'd suggest bringing healing potions, for example. Just in case you need them and you can't use magic.**_

_Harry doesn't respond to that message either, but he does find himself taking the professor's advice into account. That night, with the help of his invisibility cloak, he sneaks into Snape's potion stores and carefully fills a bag with pre-made healing potions of varying intensity, plus as many ingredients as he can think of that are often used to make healing potions. Just in case, like Snape said._

_Harry can't resist the opportunity to further mess with his least favorite professor, so he leaves a note for the man, right where a sizeable collection of potions used to be. It reads: _**You're right. I should be prepared. Thanks for the supplies!**

* * *

Voldemort had apparently decided that he wanted to hold Death Eater meetings at Malfoy Manor. This works perfectly well for Draco, who has no intention of joining his mother in hiding in the shadowy corners of his own home while the Dark Lord is present. Draco had told his father that he wanted to become a Death Eater, and so a Death Eater he would become, so long as Voldemort accepted him.

The first meeting of the summer was scheduled to take place on a warm Thursday evening. Draco waits for Lord Voldemort's arrival at his father's side, carefully holding his head just low enough to be considered respectful but high enough to also indicate his strength and willingness to be a part of the Dark Wizard's inner circle.

Draco feels his pulse leap into his throat when the Dark Lord finally makes his appearance. But he's determined not to let his fear control his reaction.

"Good evening, Lucius," Voldemort remarks to Draco's father, who bows his head and replies in kind.

"Draco," Voldemort purrs, turning to face him now. "How marvelous that you resemble your father so closely. To what do I owe the _privilege_ of your presence tonight?" The tone to his words gives Draco the impression that his pre-prepared answer is, in fact, the _only _acceptable answer in this situation.

"My Lord," Draco begins, maintaining eye contact with him, "I wish to follow in my father's footsteps and become one of your Death Eaters."

Voldemort smiles then. Or rather, he bares his teeth in a way that _resembles_ a smile. But the action lacks the friendly warmth and happiness that one generally expects to accompany a smile.

"Excellent, Draco! I suppose it's time for you to officially meet the other Death Eaters, then."

And with that, he snatches Lucius' arm, pulls his sleeve back to reveal his Dark Mark, and presses a finger firmly against it. Within moments, black whorls appear all over the room, morphing into Death Eaters. Draco and Voldemort remain in the center of it all. His father had taken advantage of the chaos to abandon Draco and join the mask of currently anonymous Death Eaters. _Thanks, Dad, _Draco thinks to himself with a mental eye roll.

But it doesn't matter. Draco's not here for any reason involving his father. No, his reason is revenge, and that is going to be best accomplished from as close to Voldemort's side as possible.

"Everyone," Voldemort announces, drawing the immediate attention of everyone in the room, "Draco Malfoy wishes to join our ranks. And I've decided that he shall get his wish."

Suddenly, without warning, Voldemort reaches for Draco's left arm and presses his wand to the sensitive skin there. Whatever spell he uses to create the Dark Marks is incredibly painful. Draco feels like his whole arm is _on fire_, and as much as he tries to force his face to remain calm and unmoved, he can feel himself breaking, a cry beginning to gather in the back of his throat―

But then it's over. Draco glances down to see a skull with a snake protruding out of its mouth staring back at him. "Welcome, Draco Malfoy, to our ranks!" Voldemort proclaims, holding out the freshly inked arm for everyone to see. The sudden movement aches, but Draco knows better than to resist.

"Welcome, Draco Malfoy!" the gathered members intone back. Everyone exposes their own arms, as if offering proof that they too belong here with him. The gesture would be touching if this wasn't an evil cult that no sane person (well, besides Draco) should ever _want_ to belong to.

* * *

When he answered the Dark Lord's call, Severus didn't anticipate that Draco Malfoy would be involved in any way. As much as everyone at Hogwarts seemed to suspect that all Slytherin students were mini Death Eaters, most of the real Death Eaters wisely kept their children away from Voldemort. Severus certainly would've thought that Lucius of all people would wish to keep his only child out of sight. And Draco had never seemed to truly wish to be involved in any of this wickedness.

And of course, that's when he remembers . . . Peter Pettigrew had killed Cedric Diggory, according to Harry Potter. Severus was there when Draco ran out to hold the dead body of the boy he'd fallen in love with in his arms. Dumbledore had practically had to tear it away from him. So perhaps Draco being here is neither the result of his father pressuring him nor his own genuine devotion to the Death Eaters' cause.

Perhaps he's simply discovered the concept of vengeance. Of course, this situation is such a serious one to walk into for such a short-sighted reason that Severus is tempted to drag the boy away by the ear right now. It could save a young life, even if it would doom his own. Voldemort would surely kill Draco if he discovered the boy to be plotting against him. Like Severus already is.

Without so much as moving a muscle, Severus uses his legilimency to test Draco. If he can break through the boy's shields, then Voldemort certainly can and likely already has. But if Severus can't . . . then Draco might be safe, at least for now. He puts his full strength into the spell, and slams right into a brick wall. He examines it in his mind and finds it to be acceptable for the time being.

Then he has to watch as Voldemort inflicts the Dark Mark on Draco. The boy's efforts to keep his face blank are truly remarkable. He only just starts to flinch at the very end of the process, but his face relaxes immediately when the wand is removed from his arm.

The meeting goes on for a bit longer, with the only truly intriguing news revealed when Voldemort discusses the prophecy that had led to his decision to kill Harry. Severus files the information away for further thought. He leaves when the other Death Eaters leave.

Or at least, he pretends to. In reality, he apparates to a nearby room in the house, where he casts eavesdropping and disillusionment charms. Luckily, Voldemort doesn't stick around much longer either, so in only a few minutes, he catches Draco's uninjured arm and apparates with him to Severus' own home, which he always keeps carefully warded against eavesdropping.

"Why did you get the Dark Mark today, Draco?" he asks the boy, letting him go.

Draco blinks at him, clearly startled at being taken away from his home so suddenly by his potions professor.

"I . . . wanted to," he says slowly.

"You'll have to be much more convincing than that if you expect to fool _anyone_, let alone Lord Voldemort," Severus reprimands him.

"What makes you think I don't really want to?" The boy's defensive now, obviously suspicious that Severus would either kill him or report him to Voldemort for such deceit.

"I was once in love with a beautiful witch, but then Voldemort killed her years ago. I'll never forgive him for that. You were clearly in love with Cedric, and I don't think you'll ever forgive the Death Eaters for being the reason he's dead."

Draco doesn't say anything immediately. But then he ruminates aloud, "So you're plotting against the Dark Lord?"

Rather than giving him a clear answer, Severus responds with, "This is a tricky situation you've gotten yourself into, Draco. You need help to make sure you walk away from this in the end, so let me help you."

"Who said I care about walking away from this alive?" Draco challenges him.

"You might feel that way now, but you have your whole life ahead of you, boy. You deserve to live it and find love again. Now, let us begin with occlumency. I tested your shields already during the meeting, but you must be prepared to keep them at their strongest at all times."

They never officially spoke the words to one another, but Draco nodded and allowed Severus to work with him. Thus, Severus considers a tentative, secret partnership against Voldemort to have formed between them.

* * *

**You ****stole** **potions from Snape?! Oh, that's too good. I'll be teasing him about that one for sure. I am concerned about you, however. I know you don't want to talk about it, but I just don't want anything bad to happen to you. I've lost so much already, and I don't want to lose you too.**

After reading that message from Draco, Harry takes a few minutes to just reread it again and again. Even though he knows that Draco didn't mean for it to be romantic, Harry can't stop the blood from rushing to his face. He never in a million years would have guessed that he'd be this desperate for _Draco Malfoy's_ affection.

He finds himself pulling out the piece of parchment on which he'd written the Draco Malfoy Pros and Cons List. In the pros section, he adds "He can make me unbelievably happy with just a few words."

The summer is about a third of the way done now, and Harry has still just been writing mainly to Draco. Hermione had finally sent him one letter, simply excusing her absence of other letters by saying that she and Viktor have been spending a lot of time together as they discuss whether they should get back together.

He's had to use a few more potions to keep himself functioning well enough to complete all his chores and avoid further punishment. And he'd sustained plenty of new minor injuries that he hadn't bothered to treat, mostly bruises.

But he doesn't know what to do about the dreams he's been having. When he took his little midnight venture to Snape's storeroom, he didn't take any dreamless sleep draughts or ingredients that could be used to make even one. So unfortunately, Harry's left with nightmares almost every night. And they've been getting worse.

_Harry grins wickedly as Death Eaters appear all around him. He feels almost drunk on the power he has over all of these witches and wizards. They come when he summons them, leave when he orders them to, and follow every order he gives them. _

"_Take off your masks," he commands. And they all comply, immediately. _

_He looks around at their faces, the faces of those whose wills bend so easily to him. Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, his newest recruit_―

_Harry crosses the room to stand in front of Draco, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. It shakes lightly. The fear he causes in others is positively _exhilarating. "_How are you enjoying life as a Death Eater, Draco?" he asks in delight. _

_Before Draco can answer, Harry sees his reflection in Draco's eyes. And his face is not that of Harry Potter. No_―_he _is _Lord Voldemort, slits for a nose and all._

Harry jerks awake in bed, gasping.


	14. Chapter 14: A Tidal Wave

"Don't ever think you're alone here,

We've just been trapped in different hells,

And people aren't against you dear,

They're just all for themselves."

— Erin Hanson

"Have you heard from our mutual friend this summer?" Draco inquires as casually as he can.

"No."

Unmoved by the kurt answer, Draco presses further: "Aren't you worried about him?"

A sigh. "Of course I am. But Dumbledore said he would take care of it."

Draco snorts. "And you trust that old fool?"

"Do you have any reason not to?"

With a scowl, Draco informs his professor, "I hate it when someone answers a question with another question."

"You're the one who begged me to come and talk, despite our agreement that the more we're seen together, the riskier it is for both of us."

Draco rolls his eyes, but caves in. "I enchanted a bracelet for him a while ago, back before he figured out who I am. I mostly meant to use it as a trap so that I could learn his identity, but I did hope he'd keep it. So I enchanted it with a few spells for protection, healing, and most importantly, to inform me when he's hurt. I've been getting a lot of alerts from that particular spell this summer."

Snape pauses to process the information. "He stole some healing potions and ingredients from my supply before everyone left Hogwarts for the summer. He must be using them."

Raising an eyebrow, Draco demands, "How do you know it was him and still not know his identity?"

Drily, the potions professor replies, "Because I used the journal to advise him to be prepared for whatever he might face this summer. And the next day, I discovered most of my healing potions replaced by a cheeky thank-you note."

"That does sound like him," Draco admits.

"Remind the boy that he can always come to me if he feels endangered."

"I will," Draco says, though he's not sure their stubborn friend will listen.

* * *

Snape has only just apparated Draco back to his family manor when they overhear Lucius Malfoy cursing nearby. This immediately intrigues Draco, of course, because it's so unlike his father to break his calm exterior. The typically impervious man is the one who taught Draco how to carefully preserve his own placid mask, after all.

So naturally, Draco keeps ahold of Snape's arm and makes some complex hand gestures that Snape somehow correctly interprets by casting disillusionment and eavesdropping charms.

"He's going to figure it out sooner or later, Narcissa! And what are we supposed to do then?" Lucius demands, apparently speaking to Draco's mother.

"It's possible that he knows already and simply doesn't blame you, darling," she tries to reassure him.

"Oh yes, I'm sure he doesn't blame me for allowing a piece of his soul that I was charged with guarding to be destroyed!"

"If we try to leave, he will find us. You know what would happen then. To all of us, including Draco." Narcissa's voice is graver than Draco has ever heard it.

There is silence for a moment. And then, thanks surely to the eavesdropping spells, for he murmurs it so quietly, they hear Lucius mumble, "I wish I'd never given that bloody journal to the Weasley girl. I fear this horcrux business has damned us all no matter what we do."

Draco thinks his father might be crying then, but before he can determine that, Snape has apparated them far away again.

* * *

The boy is wide-eyed in confusion when Severus brings them back to the little cottage where they'd been chitchatting before they overheard Lucius and Narcissa. He chooses to momentarily ignore the young Malfoy's demands for explanations, threats that Severus had better talk to him or else (or else what, exactly, he wisely left unsaid), etc. Instead, he takes some time to process what he had just heard, sifting through his memories and knowledge regarding the term "horcrux."

Within a few minutes, Severus turns to Draco. The boy is sulkily seated in the chair opposite him and stubbornly refuses to meet his eyes until Severus abruptly says, "Your father was talking about horcruxes. Have you ever heard of them?"

Draco's head jerks towards Severus. "Regrettably, no. But the term does spark my curiosity."

Severus had suspected as much. "The term also sparked my curiosity years ago, when I first heard it. Horcruxes are very dark magic. They're created through the act of murder, which splits a wizard's soul into two pieces. From there, a horcrux can keep its maker immortal, in a way. But that kind of immortality . . . it twists the soul into something unrecognizable."

"And that's what Voldemort did." He doesn't phrase it as a question.

Severus answers it like one regardless. "Yes."

"So . . . how do we kill him if he's immortal?"

Severus smirks at the boy. "We destroy the horcruxes."

"There's more than one?" Draco's face is getting paler with every word Severus says. Good, Severus thinks to himself, he's finally realizing how serious this situation is.

"There must be. Harry Potter destroyed one your second year, and yet Voldemort's soul was not banished from this world."

"How the hell do we go about this? What do horcruxes even look like?"

"They could look like anything," Severus tells him. "Whatever objects he chose. The first one was a diary."

"We're doomed," mourns Draco.

"No," Severus corrects him. "We can find them. You and I are in his inner circle for a reason."

Draco sighs. "It'll be a fucking miracle if we pull this off."

* * *

Harry spends his days doing chores. And then he spends his nights plagued by the terrors of his mind's own making. He might've caved into the exhaustion and let it overwhelm him, if it wasn't for Draco's companionship in the journal. He even sends Harry letters by owls every so often too. But every day gets harder as his store of healing potions runs lower.

Of course Harry knows he's in a bad situation. He's known for years that his living circumstances are abnormal, problematic even. But Harry's never been one to complain. His friends always said he's too selfless. Harry likes to think it's true that he wouldn't bring attention to himself unless it was absolutely necessary. And Harry thought Dumbledore had surely caught onto that as well. So it still shocks him that the headmaster had belittled his request to go anywhere but here this summer.

But though the Dursleys had been far from holding back on physical violence in the weeks since his return home, Harry has generally been okay. In fact, even the scrapes and bruises he hasn't used healing potions to treat have seemed to go away abnormally quickly.

A bell twinkles, as loudly and annoyingly as Harry believes it's possible to twinkle a bell. Which makes it, unfortunately, his summoning call. He stands up from where he'd been sitting on the kitchen floor, grabs the tray that he'd prepared earlier on the counter, and walks it into the living room where the Dursleys await with a man and woman. Muggles, of course. The Dursleys wouldn't dream of inviting a witch or wizard here. And honestly, Harry wouldn't want them to come here and see him in this place anyway.

The inner grumbling has Harry just distracted enough that he walks straight into the leg of the coffee table. Then the abrupt pain to his foot causes him to stumble and reach for his extremity. Of course, he'd been carrying a tray of drinks, which goes flying . . . right into the lap of the Muggle woman.

Everyone is silent in horror for what feels like eons.

But then, the woman whimpers in horror. The man, probably her husband, puts an arm around her shoulders while saying, in a voice dangerously calm, "Vernon. We're leaving now. I hope you punish this idiot of a boy appropriately."

Harry's heart sinks as he slowly stands up straight. The Dursleys don't move a muscle until the man and woman have closed the front door behind them.

That's when Petunia starts screaming in his face, calling him a freak, an idiot, a nightmare from hell, the worst thing that's ever happened to this family. Dudley's cheering his mother on, exclaiming his agreement with every insult. And then there's Vernon. Harry's never seen him so angry before. His face is redder than the ripest tomato.

The vase that had been daintily resting on the coffee table, full of sweet-smelling magnolias, is in his uncle's hands.

He launches it at Harry, who's only standing a few feet away. The vase shatters in his face, glass digging into his skin, the water splashing down his shirt.

The pain has Harry on the floor, where there's only more glass awaiting him. His hands immediately flew to his face when he was hit, but when he pulls them away, he feels blinding agony—literally. His vision is clear on the right side, but darkened on the left, as if . . . he reaches towards his eye carefully, and feels a shard of glass sticking out of it.

His stomach flips upside down, and then he's emptying its contents all over the floor. Duddley is laughing, he can hear it, but the sudden nausea doesn't let him stop. Petunia gasps in horror, though he's not sure if it's because of the glass in his eye or the vomit that's now gracing the living room carpet.

Harry somehow manages to stumble to his feet, which stings from the glass he steps on. He painstakingly staggers his way upstairs, to his bedroom, where he collapses on his bed.

With a sob, he realizes that he has no idea what to do, if he can save his eye, none of it. Nothing like this has ever happened before.

That's when he sees his journal sitting next to him, and he knows what he has to do.

* * *

There's glass everywhere. It's in my eye. I can't see. Tell me what to do, please help me.

That's what Severus sees in his journal when he opens it after Draco screams at him that something is very wrong. His heart nearly stills in his chest. And Draco, reading over his shoulder, has a sudden intake of breath. The boy places a hand on Severus' shoulder. His grip is tight, like he genuinely needs the support.

"Help him," Draco gasps out.

Severus doesn't answer. Instead, he immediately begins telling this injured child exactly what he needs to do: take care of the eye first by carefully removing the glass, rinsing the eye with water, applying a healing salve, and drinking the strongest healing potion he has. Then, he needs to address the rest of his cuts in a similar fashion. And of course, Severus promises to be waiting right here if the boy encounters any problems.

Draco's grip on his shoulder loosens. Severus' efficient manner of dealing with the situation probably relieved him. After all, to someone so young and innocent, an incident like this is the worst thing he could imagine encountering. Worse, even. But Severus has seen far worse than this. He has had worse done to him.

But he doesn't say any of that to Draco. The boy doesn't need to know.

* * *

Only the cruciatus curse has ever hurt as badly as the process Harry goes through to follow Snape's instructions. Blood runs down his face when he pulls the glass shard out of his eye. It had been embedded so deeply that he feels nauseous all over again when he sees how much blood is covering it. But he manages to wipe the blood away and even splash some water on his eye.

Meanwhile, all he really wants to do is crawl into his bed and pretend that none of this ever happened. He longs to wake up and redo this day. If only he could have that chance, he would be so much more careful when the Dursleys' friends were over. He wouldn't have spilled those drinks, and then Vernon wouldn't have thrown that vase at him and then his eye and everything else hurting right now would all be perfectly fine.

It all somehow gets worse. He can't find a salve anywhere. He must've used his last one that time when they locked him in the basement for two whole days and Harry pounded on the door so much, begging to be let out, that his hands were raw bloody messes afterwards.

Desperate, he resorts to the journal again. Snape, I don't have a healing salve left. What do I do? My eye is bleeding.

He tries to keep his breathing even as his heart rate steadily goes up and up with every passing second of no reply.

But then, the reply finally appears. He's so relieved to see it, he would cry if he wasn't already. Stay calm. It's going to be okay, Snape says, You might be able to make a salve. Do you have your cauldron and any ingredients with you?

With one hand presses over his left eye, he looks around him. The cauldron is in the corner, and he hasn't used any of the ingredients that he stole from Snape, so he tells the professor what he has.

Yes, we can easily make a healing salve with that. Follow the instructions I'm about to give you very closely.

Harry nods to himself, determined to proceed carefully. He's never needed to make anything this badly before. Luckily, the salve isn't the most complicated thing he's ever had to brew, so by following Snape's steps carefully, it seems to turn out well.

It's supposed to be a purple slimy thing, right? He asks Snape, just to be sure.

With the ingredients you used, I suppose that should be alright.

What do you mean should be? Harry scribbles back in horror.

I've never made a salve with your exact ingredients before. But it should work, in theory.

IN THEORY?! Harry's going to kill him. He's going to kill his professor and rot in Azkaban if he has to, because he'll never be able to be an auror with only one good eye. And the idea of becoming like Mad-Eye Moody with his fake eye is far from appealing.

Just put it in your eye once it's cool enough not to burn you. Then secure a bandage around your face and apply the healing salve to the rest of your serious cuts and bandage them. Then drink the healing potion like I told you to earlier. And then, rest.

Harry lets out a breath. His whole body is still shaking, both from pain and the nerves that this might not work. But he doesn't have a better option, so he does as Snape said. He's awkward and hesitant as he tries to bandage his eye with swaths of toilet paper. Unfortunately, Harry had never stocked up on bandages, so this is all he has. He doesn't even know where the Dursleys keep theirs medical supplies, and he's certainly not about to go look or ask.

He does have some tape in his room, so he tapes folded over pieces of toilet paper over his eye, his feet, and the various other places where glass sliced him open. By the time he's done, he would probably think himself an Egyptian mummy if he looked in a mirror.

But he doesn't have enough energy for that. All he can manage to do is collapse into his bed and gingerly pull the covers over his aching body.

And he can't bring himself to think about humorous things like his own resemblance to Egyptian mummies. No, what's on his mind now is how betrayed he feels. Harry shouldn't be so surprised every time the Dursleys hurt him and don't stick around to apologize, let alone pick up the pieces. The worst part is that he can't help but expect to wake up one day and just be treated like part of the family. He never got to enjoy being a family with his parents.

Maybe there really is something wrong with me like they say. Why else would it be so hard to treat me like family?

Harry sobs himself to sleep despite the pain in his eye. Tears and blood mingle and stain his pillow while his nightmares feature red eyes and precious objects, hidden but never lost.

* * *

Severus has had enough.

"We haven't heard from him in an hour, so he's probably asleep. I'm going to speak with Dumbledore about what's occurred this evening. He promised to ensure that nothing like this would happen. Clearly, he didn't realize the severity of the situation."

He stands. "This has been a busy night, Draco. We have discussed many things. Forget none of it." Before Draco can protest, Severus grasps his arm and apparates him back to Malfoy Manor.

From there, he apparates again to the outsirts of Hogwarts, where he marches all the way through the castle to Dumbledore's private quarters.

Severus would have woken the man up from his slumbers if he had to, but he finds Albus sitting in a chair by the window. The slump in his shoulders tells a story of a man bearing an incredibly heavy weight, alone.

"You promised that the boy I told you about would be safe," Severus says in lieu of a greeting.

"I suppose I did give you that impression," Dumledore sighs.

"Look at this conversation I had with him tonight. Look at it, Albus!" Severus thrusts his journal in front of the man, already held open to when Harry first told him that there was glass in his eye.

The headmaster's silence only further infuriates him. "You know where he is. Get him away from that place. At this rate, he might not survive the summer wherever he is!"

Albus only holds up a hand. "I wish I could, Severus."

Snapping his journal closed and backing away, he hisses, "I will not be like you and do nothing to help a suffering child. There is nothing that can excuse this."

"The greater good—"

"There is no greater good than the well-being of our students here at Hogwarts. You used to understand that."

Severus turns and storms away, the bitter taste on his tongue and the ringing in his ears testaments to just how unexpectedly disappointment has poured over him like a tidal wave.


	15. Chapter 15: His Mind as a Fortress

_Freedom of your mind is a blessing while in a cage._

_—__Jack F._

When Harry wakes up the next day, he automatically reaches up to rub the sleep out of his eyes, like he always does. But this time, searing pain causes him to jerk his hand away from his left eye immediately upon contact.

He's confused at first, but only for a moment. The events of yesterday pour over him, drowning him in their miserable torrents. _The guests. He tripped. Vernon threw the vase. Glass. Snape helped._

Stumbling to the small mirror in his room, Harry takes a deep breath. _1 . . . 2 . . . 3!_

He peels back his homemade toilet paper bandage. And then immediately bolts to the trash can, where he vomits up some mucus but mostly just dry heaves. Probably a sign that he should eat something.

Still clutching the rubbish bin, he slowly stands and repositions himself in front of the mirror. _The good news is that I have some blurry vision out of my left eye, so that's definitely not hopeless,_ Harry tries to reassure himself. The bad news is much more obvious. Little droplets of blood seep from his eye, which is so swollen and red that Harry fears it might burst if he so much as touches it. _Perhaps it's infected._

Harry shudders and fetches his journal.

* * *

A few days later and after many frantic exchanges with Snape, the infection has died down enough for Harry to stop shaking in fear and pain every time he has to check on his eye. But that doesn't mean his problems are all over.

His nightmares have been getting consistently worse, to the point where Harry is lucky if he can even calm down enough to fall asleep. When he does collapse from pure exhaustion, he wakes up more terrified of dreaming than ever.

After a particularly unsettling nightmare in which Harry had once again been Lord Voldemort, he's had enough. He just won't allow himself to sleep again until he figures out how to get rid of these terrible dreams. And as seems to be a pattern in his life this summer, there's only one person to go to for that.

**Is there a way to get rid of nightmares?**

Only a few minutes later, Snape responds. **I know you've advanced enough of a potions student to have learned about dreamless sleeping draughts in class. So you wouldn't be asking that question if you had a dreamless sleep draught. And based on the ingredients you previously told me you have, you won't be able to brew one yourself. **

Disappointment churns in Harry's stomach. And rage, so much rage that Harry shakes from it. He can't quite bring himself to direct it at Snape when he knows it's not the man's fault, but all this rage has to go somewhere or it will consume him in a deadly blaze.

So he writes back, **There must be something I can do. Please tell me. Whatever it is, I'm willing to do it. **

And that's how Harry finds himself, a few minutes later, sitting on his bed with the lights off. Imagining his mind as a fortress where he is the sole ruler. Every thought that makes him who he is, he imagines solidifying into stone, the very stone from which he painstakingly creates his fortress. He imagines nightmares as enemies trying to pound down the castle gates. And as the almighty ruler of his mental realm, all he has to do is will the enemies to turn to dust. A golden dust that cannot hurt him and instead is only blown away into the wind.

He has his first peaceful night's sleep of the summer.

* * *

Remus Lupin and Sirius Black had not argued with Dumbledore when he instructed them, as members of the Order of the Phoenix, to discreetly keep an eye on Number 4 Privet Drive and its residents. In fact, they had not even questioned him, though both men were quite curious as to what Dumbledore thought warranted such close monitoring there.

It wasn't long before they found out.

A few days into their assignment, the front door opens. And of all people, they did not expect Harry Potter to be the one to walk out of it. Now intrigued, they follow him to a nearby park. The boy just sits on a swing with a contemplative expression on his face.

Sirius looks at Remus and gestures at his own eye before pointing back at Harry.

That's when Remus notices the bandage covering Harry's left eye. Except it appears to be made of _toilet paper_ sloppily taped to his face. And And the boy had been walking so slowly, as if every step perhaps hurt a little. Remus looks back at Sirius and nods sadly.

When he looks back at Harry, the young wizard is no longer alone. There are three other boys standing near him, all much bigger and tougher looking than him. Remus notices Sirius tense beside him, so he puts a hand on his shoulder, reminding him that their place is merely to observe for now.

"You got what you deserved, freak," the boy in the middle tells Harry.

"Did I really, Dudley? You're clumsy all the time and yet I've never seen anyone throw a vase at _you_ for any of your little accidents."

The boy who Harry called Dudley grows red in the face, but before he can do or say anything, his intimidating friends break the silence. "Dudley, this is boring. Can we go check out your new video games now?"

Glaring at Harry, the boy agrees. It isn't until they've all walked out of sight that Remus sees Harry let out a deep breath.

And of course, that's when Sirius starts frantically whispering in his ear. "Remus, someone _threw a vase _at Harry! We have to tell Dumbledore. The boy could come stay with us if he's being hurt here—"

Sirius hadn't been paying attention as he pled with Remus, so Remus was the only one watching Harry as he stood up and walked towards the tunnel. With a quick "Shhh" to Sirius, he grabs the man by the arm and tugs him to follow after Harry.

The lights of the tunnel flicker. The air gets colder. And then Remus notices what Harry hasn't yet perceived: _a dementor. _And it's heading straight for the oblivious, already injured, young wizard.

Orders from Dumbledore to stay hidden be damned, Remus will not stand by and watch Harry get attacked like this. And Sirius is already moving, so they both run out to stand face-to-face with Harry, who has by now turned around to see the dementor. But of course, the dementor is in between them, floating even closer towards Harry.

The boy pulls his wand out, clearly ready to conjure a Patronus. And while Remus knows that the boy is perfectly capable of doing it, he also knows that he'd get in trouble for using underage magic, possibly even if it was self-defense.  
So he calls out, "No, Harry! Let us!" and then immediately waves his own wand and calls out "Expecto Patronum!" But of course, Harry had already begun casting the spell as well. So both Remus' and Harry's Patronuses, a wolf and a stag, run straight for the dementor, forcing it to flee.

A few moments later, the lights brighten, the air gets warmer, and Sirius is already sprinting over to Harry. Remus feels a wave of protectiveness surge over him as he watches the two embrace. He cares deeply for both of them, and after what he has seen today . . . he just can't bring himself to turn Sirius' earlier request down now.

"Sirius," he breathes as he closes the distance between them.

"Yes?" the normally gruff man asks from where his face is half-pressed against the top of Harry's head. He's not much taller than the boy now.

"I agree with you. We can't leave him here."

* * *

Harry finds himself at Grimmauld Place only a short while later. Sirius and Remus had helped Harry gather his things so frantically that they just managed to remember to scribble a note to the Dursleys explaining that Harry was with others of his "kind" and so they needn't worry.

When Harry first walks inside, he can't help but find himself disappointed that Ron and Hermione aren't waiting for him. That Dumbledore hasn't gathered everyone who cares about Harry to have some sort of celebratory reunion, celebrating Harry's rescue from his abusers at last.

But he bitterly remembers that Ron and Hermione haven't answered any of his letters all summer, and there's no one waiting for them at Grimmauld Place except Kreature, who's hardly an enthusiastic welcomer.

"Does Dumbledore know I'm here?" Harry asks Sirius and Remus, suddenly feeling dread rise in his stomach.

They look at each other, sharing unspoken words. Then Remus won't meet Harry's eyes and Sirius' ear suddenly appears to be very itchy. It's all the answer Harry needs.

"So he had you _watching me_ and yet he didn't want to actually _help_ me?"

The silence persists.

"Basically," Sirius finally admits.

Remus rolls his eyes and then further explains, "he probably found out about whatever happened to your eye because he suddenly wanted us to keep an eye out for you. I don't suppose he would have disapproved of our decision to save you from the dementors, but . . . well, he certainly won't be pleased to learn we've taken you from the Dursleys without asking him."

"I just don't understand," Harry gasps out in between waves of nausea. Throughout the course of the past year, his once unwavering faith in Dumbledore has grown more and more difficult to maintain, but he'd still never expected this kind of betrayal, this outright disregard for his safety. Harry's always known that Dumbledore prioritizes the "greater good" over any individual, but he still never expected to be so clearly treated as no less expendable than a pawn in a game of chess.

Remus and Sirius guide Harry to the bedroom that will be his now. They wish him good night, they tell him they're glad to see him, they reassure him that they will continue to protect him now. But all the while, Harry feels numb. He can only feel the glass piercing his eye, he can only see the blood splattering as he pulled it out, and he can only hear his own cries of anguish as it finally bursts the way he feared it would.

* * *

_Draco. Snape. Why are you with Voldemort always in my dreams? _

He bolts up in the middle of the night, sweaty, panting. He's about to resign himself to spending the rest of the night struggling to sleep without slipping back into the dream when he remembers what worked last time. The meditation. _Breathe deeply, imagine your inner fortress, build up its defenses, fill its moat with swampy water, you are the castle's lord and nothing can reach you unless you lower your drawbridge to allow it. _

Harry's able to sleep peacefully after that, but he can't get the thought out of his mind that there's something more to these nightmares. They're too specific, too repetitive, and yet, they don't feel as personal as dreams so specific and repetitive should be. . . .

* * *

**The meditation skills you've been teaching me about . . . is there something more to them than you've told me?**

Harry tries to focus on simple tasks like reviewing his Hogwarts supplies list to see what he needs to buy before the summer ends. But he's never able to reach the end of it before he inevitably reaches for his journal to see if Snape has replied.

By the time he finally does get an answer, he'd been about ready to chuck his bloody journal in the fireplace out of frustration. (Sure, it had been less than an hour. But Harry's never claimed to have the patience of an angel.)

**It can also be used as a technique called occlumency, which can protect your mind from those skilled at intruding upon it without your permission.**

"Kreature!" Harry yells, jumping to his feet.

"Yes, Master?" inquires the grouchy house elf from immediately behind Harry.

He whirls around so quickly that he feels his grip on his school letter loosen enough for the paper to fly away from him and straight into the fire. Leaping to rescue it with a yelp, Harry grits out, "Please get me any books you can find on occlumency."

* * *

By the time he gets in bed that night, the books Kreature found for him have Harry convinced that he and Voldemort must be somehow connected in a game of occlumency and legilimency. The only problem is that Harry's not quite sure what the rules of the game have been so far. Why would Voldemort knowingly invite Harry into his mind to see his Death Eater meetings and give away the true loyalties of Draco and Snape?

Perhaps that's not it at all. The books made it sound like the case between the two of them is highly irregular, as it always describes people being near each other physically when legilimency and occlumency are used. Maybe their connection is more accidental and Voldemort has as little control over it as Harry? (Well, Voldemort probably has more control than _him_, but still, perhaps he can't _entirely_ keep Harry out even if he wants to.)

From how Draco and Snape have been acting, Harry can't shake the feeling that they are not bad people, let alone evil ones like Voldemort. After all, they've both been desperate to help him through the journals, despite not having any idea who he really is and therefore no reason to expect to gain anything from helping him. That could just be Harry's wishful thinking and inability to see the worst in people, but perhaps he can find out for sure.

This time when he goes to sleep, he imagines entering the dungeon of his fortress, where Voldemort awaits, locked in a cell he can't escape from. He's in Harry's territory, under his control. There's nothing to fear from tonight's dream.

Now that he's focusing on it on purpose, Harry's hyper-aware of Voldemort's thoughts and feelings: anger that his followers dare to present him with such incompetence, determination to get to Harry, confidence that he is the world's most powerful wizard, intimate knowledge about every one of his Death Eaters and the cunningness to use it to his advantage, but overwhelmingly, _fear_. No matter how powerful he gets, no matter how many followers he lures to his cause, Voldemort continues to fear both death and defeat as much as he did when he was just a little boy in the orphanage, ostracized by the other kids, an unknown, afraid he would never leave any mark on the world, nothing to acknowledge that he ever existed. . . .

Harry pulls back, afraid he's falling too deeply into someone else's mind. He has no idea how any of this works, after all, and it would be a pointless endeavor if he just lost himself to Voldemort's mind accidentally.

He imagines himself seeing through Voldemort's eyes, and then just like that, shapes begin to take focus in front of him. Snape stands in front of him with his head bowed. Voldemort relishes the power he has over this person, wants to have this dominance over everyone—

_Focus._ It's strange being a passenger in someone else's body. Harry can't—or at least, doesn't know how to—control Voldemort's actions or thoughts. But that's okay. It's enough for him to be able to glimpse Draco hiding in a shadowy corner, just outside the room, while Voldemort is laser-focused on Snape. Harry can see fear on Draco's face, the kind of fear someone might have if they're in way over their head and they know it. The constant terror of knowing that they have only one person to rely on, and when that one person is in a very dangerous situation, they feel the agonizing terror of someone who's been left alone far too many times already and might break if it happens again.

Of course, Harry still can't be sure that Draco and Snape aren't really loyal to Voldemort despite appearances to the contrary. But at least he's confirmed that he can intentionally use the connection between himself and Voldemort like this. That's good enough for one night.

* * *

Shopping for school supplies used to be one of Draco's favorite activities. And if he's being completely honest with himself, he has to admit that it still appeals to his vanity to buy all of the newest and most stylish robes, potions equipment, broomsticks, and whatever other lavish things catch his eye.

He still remembers the first time he ever saw Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, just right over there at Madam Malkins, getting fitted for robes. He's not sure whether he's hoping to see Harry now or not. He feels as drawn to him as he always has, but after the love he experienced from Cedric, it hurts him to think of moving on from such a love, let alone being rejected by the one person he might consider wanting. As if that might ruin the validity of every loving word Cedric ever told him.

_You're being ridiculous. Stop it._

But of course, the mere thought of the Gryffindor seems to have summoned him. Draco's torn between turning around and running straight up to him when he notices who's with Harry. _Remus Lupin._ Draco recalls that Harry had seemed to get along quite well with that defense against the dark arts professor, a rarity to be sure, but that still doesn't offer an explanation for what they're doing here together.

Before he can even make a conscious decision about whether to interact with Harry or not, he's already striding towards him. "Harry," he purrs when he's stopped right in front of the other boy.

"Draco," Harry replies, seemingly uncertain about what to expect.

"May I have a moment of your time, alone?"

He notices the shock and distrust in Lupin's expression, but he pays the former professor no mind, instead focusing on Harry. Letting him know that this is his choice, one that Draco will respect.

It doesn't surprise him when Harry nods at Lupin, sending the man sulking away to keep an eye on them from a further distance. Sometimes asking nicely really is the best way to get what you want, he's found.

"So, what's with the new escort?" he asks casually but curiously.

"I . . . I was attacked by dementors when I was with the Dursleys. We decided it wasn't safe for me there anymore." Harry bites his lip and glances away when he pauses, as if he had to decide whether to tell Draco something. Draco's unsure whether this claim about the dementors is the secret, the coverup, or just an omission of something else.

"You're always welcome to come stay with me," Draco murmurs flirtatiously as he gently takes Harry's wrist and runs his fingers along his hand lightly.

"You and I both know that would be a terrible idea," Harry blushes but doesn't pull his hand away.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you at school. Hopefully much more of you," Draco presses his finger firmly against the underside of Harry's wrist. The boy's pulse is racing. Draco winks at Harry, relishing in the effect that a few simple movements can have on someone even so mighty as the Boy Who Lived.

"I'll see you at school. . . ." he hears Harry mumble in response as Draco saunters away.


	16. Chapter 16: SASA

_"__Hateful bitch of a world, it wouldn't ever last."_

_― __Jack Kerouac, Book of Sketches_

Harry didn't think he could have a worse Defense Against the Dark Arts professor than Lockhart the con-man or fake Mad-Eye Moody. But as with so many things, the universe just had to go and prove him wrong.

Dolores Umbridge is by far the worst thing that's ever happened to Hogwarts. Within the first week of classes, she's already made it painfully clear that she has no intention of actually teaching anyone anything about defending themselves.

Dumbledore seems content to do nothing about this dreadful situation, which is how Harry finds himself in an empty classroom whispering with Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood.

"Voldemort is back, but the adults don't believe me. The wizarding world won't be able to defeat him if the only people who _do_ believe me aren't trained to fight him," Harry explains to them in a low voice.

"I agree with you wholeheartedly, but what do you suggest that we do about it?" Draco asks.

"Harry sighs helplessly. The problem is that he _doesn't_ _know_ what to do about it. He just knows that it's a problem, and the lack of an obvious solution to it infuriates him.

"You could teach them, couldn't you, Harry?"

He turns to look at Luna, confused at first.

Then Draco squeezes Harry's shoulder, grabbing his attention. "It's true, Harry. You have more practical dueling experience than anyone at this school. And that's what you wish Defense Against the Dark Arts would teach, right? So why wait for Umbitch to teach what _you _can probably teach better anyway?"

For some reason, only one part of that statement really seems to register in Harry's brain. "_Umbitch?_"

Draco blinks at him.

They all burst out laughing.

* * *

Draco had just slipped away from the unused second floor classroom where he'd hurriedly met with Harry and Luna. They couldn't risk being seen together, not when Draco was so clearly trying to reingratiate himself with the Purebloods after he'd so carelessly tossed aside their approval for his actions last year. Luna left a few minutes after that. Harry waited a few more minutes and then left himself.

Now, he's finding himself wishing he'd waited longer. Ron and Hermione are right there, arguing about Hermione getting back together with Viktor while she's accusing him of only caring due to his jealousy. All of this is news to Harry. He hadn't heard from either of them all summer, and frankly, he's _over_ it. Hence, he'd suggested to Draco that Luna join them to complete their pleasantly weird new trio. Harry likes Luna, and surprisingly, it seems like Draco does too.

He'd been tempted to ask Snape to be the third member of their trio, but it seemed too obvious to Harry. Though he's found himself trusting Snape, he's not sure the professor would still care so much about the boy he knows from the journal if that boy turned out to be _Harry Potter_.

Harry still can't help but be reluctant to fully trust either Snape or Draco as he would be doing by letting them realize that he's their secretive journal correspondent. Not when he's been seeing them at Death Eater meetings with Voldemort in his dreams.

* * *

Severus is glad that the boy is still communicating with him via the journal. He really is. The boy's insistence to remain anonymous isn't what bothers him in and of itself. It's the fact that Severus knows he could provide so much more help to him if only he would come forward and allow himself to be helped.

Instead, he and Draco have been chasing their tails playing detective looking for him. A monumental waste of time.

"Draco, have you talked to George Adams like I asked?"

"His eye injury was from a potions accident, like I thought."

"It's entirely possible that we're looking for someone capable of using magic to remove the scar. I still think there are quite a few good candidates in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw—"

"What if it really is him though?"

The young Slytherin has gotten a wild idea in his head that _Harry Potter_ is the boy they've been looking for.

"We both know Potter would never trust us with anything, let alone with his life," Severus chides.

Draco hesitates. "Well . . . he seems to be trusting me more than his old friends now."

Leaning back in his chair contemplatively, Severus asks, "And what evidence have you found linking Potter to the boy we know in the journal?"

"The scar on his eye. It's fresh-looking. If only he was more talented with magic or on speaking terms with Granger, he probably could have magically healed it. You helped our journal boy save his eye this summer. That can't be a coincidence."

"I suppose that does seem unlikely," Snape says slowly, "but we must proceed with caution. That's only one piece of circumstantial evidence, far from concrete. We must be much more confident about this idea of yours before I'd even _consider _confronting him about it. I find it hard to believe that the sympathetic boy we've come to know could possible be the spoiled brat Potter.

"But if it really is him, then he's in trouble. Trouble that he doesn't seem to trust with anyone except us, anonymously. We must not give him a reason to doubt his decision to trust us."

"Okay." Draco nods and leaves Snape to his thoughts, which turn over and over again focused only on the question of whether Dumbledore could possibly have allowed his golden boy to endure years of abuse from his muggle relatives.

* * *

Last year, Cedric spent an inordinate amount of time showing Draco his favorite spots on Hogwarts' grounds. Right after his death, Draco had avoided those places determinately.

But now, he can't seem to stay away from them. Walking by the flowerbed near the main entrance of the castle, watching the sunset from a little hill overlooking the lake, climbing the trees near the forbidden forest. He goes to these places habitually, alone, and just allows emotions to overwhelm him. Control has always been essential to Draco, but he gave that away when he first allowed Cedric to kiss him. And now he continues to give that control away at the places that remind him of Cedric.

"Mind if I join you?"

_Harry._

He can't bring himself to look at the Gryffindor, but nor can he bring himself to send him away. So he jerks his chin, allowing Harry to interpret that however he will. Harry being Harry, he either doesn't notice Draco's hesitancy or stubbornly ignores it, because he sits far too close to Draco for comfort. Their shoulders touch, and the physical contact makes Draco feel _warm._

But a guilty voice inside his head reminds him, _This isn't Cedric. _

For a while, they don't speak. They just sit on the little hill where Draco used to sit with Cedric. The vibrant hues of orange clash, fade into, and reflect over the lake. Draco watches them battle for so long that he's almost forgotten he's not alone this evening.

But then Harry has to open his mouth and ruin the moment.

"You . . . you really aren't on Voldemort's side, right?"

Draco sighs internally and imagines rolling his eyes all the way back into his head. He wants to have this conversation _now?_

"And you weren't eliminated from the journal competition as early as you led everyone to believe last year?"

Harry's hand stills from where it had been creeping closer to Draco's.

"I just need to know. . . . Can I trust you to be all in for the plan we made with Luna?"

Whenever Harry's this close and the conversation this heated, Draco's shields against whatever magnetism draws him to Harry are the least effective. He finds himself purposefully inhaling his sandalwood scent, listening more to the tones of his voice than the exact words he's saying, wondering what he might taste like, staring at his unruly black hair, desperately wishing he could—

"Draco?"

And then he does it. "It" being the unholy act of running his hands through said unruly hair. Harry doesn't stop him, though his eyebrows furrow together in a way that makes Draco want to use his lips to smooth out the wrinkle that's formed between them.

Instead, he looks Harry directly in the eyes, their lips _so close_ and whispers, "You can count on me if I can count on you."

* * *

It's their first official meeting. Luna has a hand on his shoulder. She's telling him that he can do this, that their plan will work. But Harry feels sick. He wants to turn around—

"Go inside and get set up," interrupts an all-too-familiar voice. Luna steps aside, and Draco places himself neatly in front of Harry, taking up his whole field of vision. "You'll be safe in there while I'm out here. And you're amazing at defense. You're the best teacher they could hope to have right now."

Harry doesn't let himself think about it; he just flings himself at Draco, wrapping himself around the other boy with a frantic energy. Then he feels it drain, as if Draco was a stress ball for his entire body. As quickly as he started it, Harry ends the hug. With a last glance at Draco, he follows Luna into the Room of Requirement.

Despite knowing that the room is supposed to do this, it always amazes Harry just how perfectly the room changes itself to meet whatever needs are placed before it. Now, the room is mostly empty space, but the walls are lined with mannequins, presumably for practicing curses against.

"This is perfect, Harry!"

"It really is. How long do we have before everyone shows up?"

"The particularly punctual ones'll probably start showing up in about ten minutes."

"Right. So shall we go over the plan again?"

Luna nods in agreement, and the two get to work.

* * *

Of course Snape is the one to first catch on to Harry's new extracurricular activity. Draco spots him slinking about the seventh floor consistently around the times of the informal DADA club's weekly meetings.

He warns Harry about it, of course, but Draco wasn't sure whether he should just approach Snape himself and ask him to leave this alone or not. It would probably seem too out of character for both of them, and Draco doesn't want to have to explain to Harry why he has such influence over their potions professor.

Draco's gone to great lengths to hide the secret meetings from Umbridge (or _Umbitch _as Draco likes to think of her. He'd whisper it to Harry sometimes, and the other boy would laugh breathily), even joining her Inquisitorial Squad. For all appearances, Draco Malfoy had no reason to protect Harry Potter and his gang of friends. (In reality, Draco and Harry carefully arranged when and how Draco would "catch" one of them performing the occasional misdemeanor so that no one would suspect him.)

So Umbridge does not discover them. Instead, it is Snape, whose suspicious instincts all of them had completely forgotten about. Draco was so accustomed to working _with_ the potions professor, that he had overlooked the fact that Snape and Harry were supposed to be on opposite sides. For as much as Draco had forgotten, however, it seemed that Snape had not.

Draco's hidden under Harry's invisibility cloak, guarding the Room of Requirement. They haven't had any issues so far beyond the occasional Slytherin wandering dangerously close when the group's meetings were either beginning or ending.

He freezes as Snape's familiar figure sweeps past him in the direction of the Room of Requirement. _Surely he won't be able to get inside at least._

His blood runs cold as a snakes when Snape walks past the Room of Requirement, turns on his heel, walks past it again, turns on his heel, and walks past it a third time.

Snapping out of his shocked daze, Draco casts the warning spell.

* * *

"Places, everyone!" Harry calls out.

His fellow students immediately abandon their spells and instead arrange themselves into a circle on the ground in the middle of the room. Luna starts crying_._

Snape bursts through the door. "What exactly is going on here?"

"Oh, professor," bawls Luna. "Everyone's just here to support me. Please don't be upset with them."

"Support you in regards to _what_?"

"We're just sharing stories of bullying that have gone on here at Hogwarts, Professor," replies Ginny Weasley.

"_Why?_" Snape's tone is somewhere between frustration and bemusement.

"It's nice to have emotional support like this," Cho Chang pipes up.

"This is all very suspicious," Snape says, sounding entirely unconvinced of their true purpose.

"We're called SASA, Professor. We have weekly meetings. You're welcome to attend if you would like to participate in these very _emotional_ sessions," Harry speaks up for the first time.

"What is SASA?"

"Students Against Slytherin Aggression," Luna explains, tears still streaking down her cheeks.

"I want no part in this," Snape seems to say more to himself than to them.

"Have a good day then!" Neville Longbottom says with a smile and a wave,

Then Snape is gone, and everyone lets out a breath of relief.

* * *

Harry's always the last one to leave the Room of Requirement when the meetings are over. Feeling anxious after that close call with Snape, Draco decides to have a little fun using that random observation of his.

He stays hidden under the invisibility cloak while students cautiously trickle out of the Room of Requirement. Harry and Luna exit last, as predicted.

Luckily, he'd enchanted his footsteps to be silenced when he arrived here to be the lookout, so it's all too easy for him to sneak up on Harry now. He leaps at him suddenly, eliciting a yelp from his unsuspecting victim.

Luna smiles at them both, a bit _knowingly_, before she leaves them alone.

"Thanks for the warning earlier," Harry pants out. Draco can feel his heart racing from where his hands are wrapped around the other boy's wrists, fingers against his pulse points.

"I told you you could count on me," Draco reminds him.

"I know, and I believed you. But that's not the same thing as seeing it proven."

"Well, I'm happy to prove myself over and over to you if that's what you want."

"You don't owe me anything, Draco."

Draco shivers a bit at hearing Harry say his first name. It's not a surprise to him anymore, but it's . . . oddly _pleasurable_ every time he hears it aloud. He wonders if Harry takes the same pleasure from hearing his own name fall from Draco's lips.

"_Harry,_" he whispers near his ear. Draco feels him shudder lightly.

_Yes._

In unison, they both glance around and haphazardly maneuver each other into a shadowy corner. They're still pressed close together.

Draco already can't bear to look at Harry's eyes or even his face at all. So instead he just presses his lips behind Harry's ear, eliciting a low whimper from Harry. A low whimper completely unlike the soft sigh that Cedric would have made if Draco had kissed him in that spot.

_Harry._ That's who Draco is kissing. That's whose wrists Draco is clutching like a lifeline. That's who is making Draco weak enough to betray the love Cedric had given him.

While Draco was distracted by his paralyzing thoughts, Harry had taken the initiative to further things along. Suddenly, he's brought Draco's lips to meet his, and they're _really kissing _now.

Draco breaks away with a cry.

Harry looks at him, his pretty green eyes wide with concern, and Draco can feel hot tears streaking down his cheeks. He's feeling too much to possibly explain to Harry, but he manages to gasp out, "_Cedric."_

* * *

Why he'd kissed Draco, only Merlin knows. The blonde had just looked so . . . angelic, with his sharp features so dimly lit. Everything about him is intoxicating when Harry gets this close. That's partially why he stopped letting himself get so close to him in the first place.

But now Draco is crying, and Harry's heart hurts. It had only been earlier this year, in the spring, when Cedric died. Before that, the Hufflepuff had spent months falling in love with Draco. It had been plain to see from how happy both of them were together.

And now Harry had idiotically gone and kissed the boy who was still mourning his dead . . . lover? Boyfriend? Harry didn't know what they called each other, but that didn't matter really.

Cedric is gone, but Draco is still here. Harry still blames himself for not saving Cedric that day, so he decides that he'll do this for Cedric. He will help Draco to mourn him. To not let that mourning kill Draco.

"Hey, Draco, it's okay," Harry murmurs softly. He hugs him then, gently, rubbing circles into his back. "Cedric loved you. He would want you to be happy. Wouldn't you have wanted him to be happy if it had been the other way around, if you had been the one to die? Being with me, or anyone else, won't diminish the love you two shared. Still, you can take your time. I won't pressure you to do anything."

Draco's sobbing now, but somehow he looks more beautiful than ever. Maybe it's the fact that he's trusting Harry with his vulnerability, something that he never would have done a year ago, that endears him to Harry so much.

Regardless of his desire to smother the Slytherin with tender kisses, Harry doesn't do anything else besides hold him close while he cries into Harry's robes.


	17. Chapter 17: Stark Red Lines

"For almost a minute the two of us were locked in a battle of wills that had no possible winner, only a different order of losing."

― Mira Grant, _Parasite_

Ron can't tell if he's more bothered by Hermione getting back together with Viktor right after Ron and Fleur had broken up or the fact that Harry seems to have permanently abandoned them for _Draco Malfoy's_ company yet again.

Draco had bullied the three of them for years, and the three of them had always relied on each other to stand up to him: Hermione showed him up in class, Harry outshone Draco in Defense Against the Dark Arts and was a public hero who'd refused to be friends with him, and Ron was a pureblood in Gryffindor.

So what had changed? Ron can't think of any possible explanation for Harry's sudden change in behavior.

Currently, Ron and Hermione are sitting side-by-side in the Great Hall eating breakfast, and Ron can't stop himself from staring forlornly at the empty spot across from them where Harry once would have sat.

Meanwhile, Hermione is raving about how successful her attempts at reigning in Viktor's controlling tendencies have been. Words are flowing out of her mouth at such a swift and steady rate that Ron doesn't even bother trying to interrupt her. It's useless when she's like this.

". . . I just really think we might actually belong together, Ron. Every book I've read on the matter seems to confirm my theory that we're the perfect partners for each other. We challenge each other to grow as people while also providing one another with an appropriate level of affection. I'm just so happy, Ron," she finally finishes with a sigh.

By then, there's a pressure so intense emanating from Ron's hand that he looks down to see that he'd unknowingly clenched it so tightly around his goblet that his hand is bright red with white knuckles. Hot spikes of jealousy well within him, but it feels unfocused. His thoughts are crowded with thoughts of both bushy brown hair and toned muscles.

It's all so confusing that Ron shakes his head and looks away from Hermione.

"Why do you think Harry isn't sitting with us anymore?" he asks her, as his eyes simultaneously seek and find Harry.

The green-eyed boy in question is sitting further down the Gryffindor table, far enough away that he can't hear any of the words being exchanged between Harry and his group of admirers. It seems so unlike Harry to willingly surround himself with a large group of people like that, and Ron is only further confused by it.

Not only is he apparently happily surrounded by Gryffindors, but he's also sending paper airplanes back and forth to the other tables. Peering his head around, Ron can spot them going to Cho Chang, Luna Lovegood, and _of course_, Draco Malfoy.

Ron and Hermione were always the ones to make Harry smile the way that he is now smiling without so much as a glance at Ron or Hermione. As if he didn't miss their friendship at all.

He sinks further down onto the bench as Hermione finally replies to his earlier question with, "We've been his best friends for years, Ron. Not Draco or Luna or your brothers. Harry can't forget that. He'll come back to us."

* * *

The position of High Inquisitor is the best thing that has ever happened to Dolores Umbridge. She now has complete and utter power over creating and enforcing the rules at Hogwarts and it is _glorious._

She strides out of her office, determined to find every student breaking her rules and punish them all as severely as the little brats deserve. Severe punishment is the only kind that has any effectiveness, she's found.

Immediately, she spots two older students _kissing_ in a corner. "Detention!"

Then Dolores turns a corner and blinks as a puff of smoke suddenly clouds her vision. "Weasley twins!" she screeches as her skin turns green. "Another detention!"

Calming herself down, she takes a moment to point her wand at herself and transfigure her skin back to its normal color.

Around the next corner, Dolores' eyes immediately settle upon Luna Lovegood and Harry Potter whispering conspiratorially. She marches right up to them and hears the girl mention _The Quibbler_, a wizarding tabloid magazine run by her father.

"There will be no mention of that garbage in this fine establishment!" Dolores shrieks from behind Lovegood. The girl startles and turns to face her. "Detention!"

Dolores wants nothing more than to give Potter a detention as well, but he isn't openly breaking any of her rules at the moment, so she can merely purse her lips and silently promise him, _Soon. I'm in charge here, young man. I make the rules, and you're bound to break one of them. I'll make sure of it, and then I'll catch you. Detention awaits you, Potter. You can't avoid it for long. For now, I have your mischievous friends caught already. They'll suffer for their misdeeds, boy. You can't protect them from me. You'll see._

* * *

Luna, the twins, and Cho had all been handed detentions earlier in the day, and they'd immediately come to Harry one by one to tell him and seek reassurance for the foreboding each of them felt. Not sure what awaited them but fearful for his friends, Harry had asked them all to meet him in the room of requirement after they were done that night.

Harry has never seen his new friends cry before. But after one detention each with Umbitch, they're all in tears (besides the twins, who'd had several detentions already and seemed more distraught by the pain their friends than what they themselves suffered)

"What happened?" Harry demands in horror, as Cho throws herself at him, already sobbing, the moment she walks through the door.

"She―she―just look!" Cho chokes out, flinging her arm out to Harry's face.

He looks at the faces gathered around her questioningly, but they've all held out their own arms and started gingerly caressing their non-dominant hands.

With building anxiety, Harry carefully pulls Cho's long sleeve down her arm to reveal the back of her hand. It's immediately obvious what kind of punishment happens during detention.

"Oh, Cho," Harry whispers sadly as he stares at the words, "I must not engage in PDA," engraved in stark red lines on her pale skin.

Harry doesn't want to see the rest of his friends bearing similar damage, but he has to know. "Did she do this to you too?"

Nods all around coincide with Harry's heart sinking even lower in his chest. He walks around and looks at the back of their hands one by one, his eyes stinging.

The message on Luna's hand says, _I must not discuss the Quibbler in school._

The twins' hands don't have just one message. They each have at least half a dozen reprimands etched into their flesh, and that's only what Harry can see. He notices _I must not dress up statues_ stretching across Fred's fingers. _I must not host portrait gambling nights_ curls around George's palm.

Harry's friends don't deserve what's happened to them. He wants to march straight up to Umbitch and slap some sense into her. Cho is finally finding some happiness with another boy after her ex-boyfriend Cedric was tragically killed a year ago. Fred and George's pranks are ultimately harmless, and they maintain a good morale in the school. While everyone knows Luna is eccentric, her topics of choice are hardly a _threat_ to anyone, let alone the High Inquisitor's agenda.

"We can disband SASA; I don't want to put any of you through this again," Harry begins.

But he doesn't get far with this line of thought before Cho interrupts, "No, Harry. SASA is too important to just quit! We all need it. We need _you._ I'm willing to risk it."

"That's so brave of you Cho, but if anything happens―"

"She's right, Harry," says Luna in her usual steady tone. "Besides, Draco helps us keep it hidden, and even Snape didn't tell Umbridge about it after he found us."

"Harry, we've had a marvelous idea," starts Fred.

"One that will make our SASA meetings so safe even you'll agree to keep having them," continues George.

"All we need is for the two of us to set up pranks around the school that go off during our meetings so that Umbitch's squad is busy dealing with them instead of looking for you," says Fred.

"And to make it even better, we can have Draco lead the squad. Umbitch wouldn't suspect he's in on this," finishes George.

Harry looks around at his friends. Their faces are firm, stances determined. They want this badly enough to stand up to him about it.

"Fine," Harry sighs, "I'll talk to Draco about the new plan."

* * *

That night finds Draco and Harry alone in the Room of Requirement. It's past curfew, so Harry had collected Draco from the Slytherin common room using his invisibility cloak, and the two had snuck all the way to the seventh floor from there. It had meant that the two boys were pressed tightly together for quite a trek, and the whole time, Harry could only think of when Draco's mouth was on his not so long ago.

_But he'd been crying,_ Harry reminded himself. _Draco misses Cedric, the guy he was actually in love with. He doesn't want me. Not really._

So his heart lurched and skipped a beat when Draco's fingers touched the back of Harry's hand, but he didn't do anything about it. Harry might have wanted nothing more in that moment than to give into the temptation of Draco's tantalizingly close body heat, but he kept the reminder firmly planted at the front of his mind that absolutely nothing good would come of such a lapse in restraint. Draco would end up hating Harry for taking advantage of his grieving state, and Harry would hate himself for the same reason. Even if Draco could forgive him, Harry wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Once in the Room of Requirement, and sitting safely on separate armchairs (which Harry had been very careful to request as they entered), Harry sets aside all thoughts of throwing himself into the Slytherin's arms in favor of laying out the plan that the twins had come up with earlier in the day.

Draco seems entirely unsurprised by it. "Sure, I'll do it."

Harry had expected and prepared to have to do a bit more convincing, so he's rather underwhelmed by the lackluster response. "Just like that?" he asks.

"Just like that," Draco confirms.

"Aren't you worried that your fellow Slytherins might have noticed that you've been friendly with me lately and say something to Umbridge?"

"I have them under control."

Harry opens his mouth to retort something about being worried about Draco managing so much on his own, but the blonde effectively eliminates Harry's ability to speak when he stands up and crosses the room to place himself directly in front of Harry.

"You can count on me," he reminds Harry, inviting into the room unbidden a ghost of a conversation they'd had before.

"I know," Harry whispers as Draco inserts a hand under his chin, forcing Harry to make eye contact with him. Whatever he sees in Harry's face seems to satisfy him. Draco's thumb strokes Harry's jawline briefly before he drops his hand entirely.

Harry stands to walk Draco back to the dungeons. The two are silent as they walk, but Draco's presence at Harry's side remains as warm and tempting as before. Harry thinks Draco must be walking even closer to him than strictly necessary, thereby risking that the two of them might trip over each other's feet, but he says nothing and makes no effort to put additional space between them.

He still can't stop himself from shivering when Draco presses a featherlight kiss to Harry's lips right before he ducks out from under Harry's cloak and disappears into the Slytherin common room.

The journey back to Gryffindor Tower after that passes in a daze for Harry.

* * *

In hindsight, Harry should have known better than to talk to Colin Creevey and Ginny Weasley about Voldemort's return outside of Gryffindor Tower. But they had come up to him in the Great Hall, brandishing a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that boldly proclaimed Harry to be an attention-seeking liar and demanding to know how Harry would respond. So of course Harry had had to remind them that he did not, in fact, lie about his encounter with Voldemort during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, but that he unfortunately couldn't force everyone in the press to believe him.

And of course, none of them had noticed Umbitch sneaking up behind them.

"Just what is going on here? 'Voldemort is back,' you say. We all know that's not true. You must not tell lies, Harry. Detention!"

Ginny and Colin immediately shut up and held their breath, expecting to be the next ones thrown to detention.

But Umbitch, for once, seemed to have something else on her mind besides handing out as many detentions as possible. Her eyes didn't seem to even register the presence of the two fourth years. Instead, they were locked onto Harry with a hard glint.

Now, all Harry can think about is Cho sobbing after her detention, four hands bearing words of blood. Soon, he'll probably have one too. . . .

Harry trepidatively pushes the door to Umbitch's office for his detention. Immediately, his eyes are drawn to a wall covered with cat tea plates. The rest of the office is frilly and pink, sharply contrasting with the harsh woman to whom it belongs.

"Take a seat, Harry," Umbitch says as she stands from behind her desk.

He sits at a table with a piece of parchment and an odd-looking black quill laid out in front of him. Uninterested in attempting to make any efforts at pleasant conversation with her, he allows the stony silence between them to continue.

Seemingly unperturbed, Umbitch smiles at him and says, "You're going to write lines for me tonight. Specifically, you will write 'I must not tell lies.'"

"You didn't give me any ink," Harry points out.

She picks up the strange black quill and says, "You won't need any with my special quill."

Unimpressed, Harry asks, "How many times do I have to write it?"

She smirks then, a strange sight indeed, and merely says, "Let's just say you'll write it . . . until the message _sinks in._"

This seems like a far cry from the worst detention Harry's ever had, but he remembers what his friends hands had looked like after their detentions, so he reluctantly picks up the quill she's holding out for him to take. He begins to write 'I must not tell lies' on the parchment, and to his surprise, the words show up scarlet red on the parchment, despite the black quill.

That's when he notices the pain coming from his non-dominant left hand. With every stroke of the quill on the parchment, the pain intensifies, and when he looks at his hand, he can see that the skin is turning red, as if something were scraping at it.

Annoyed, Harry continues writing. His hand continues hurting, and after a few lines, Harry sees the words starting to appear on it. 'I must not tell lies.'

_So, this is how my friends got their scars. Umbitch sat them all down in this pretty pink room and had them carve the words themselves._

Although Umbitch is watching him intently and has most definitely noticed that the words have already appeared on his hand, she seems determined to have him keep writing. Unable to leave until she lets him, Harry puts his quill to the parchment again, wanting this to end as soon as possible.

Strangely, however, Harry soon starts to notice the pain in his hand receding instead of intensifying. This seems counterintuitive to Umbitch's plan, but he doesn't want her to investigate, so he tries to keep his reaction off his face.

He spends the next dozen lines wondering what could be interfering with the effects of Umbitch's quill. After running into dead ends with every idea he can think of, something hard around his wrist clacks against the table, startling him.

_Draco's bracelet._

Harry had almost forgotten about it in the months since he'd grown accustomed to its steady presence on his wrist. It was usually buried under his robes or long-sleeved shirts or even more securely hidden with an invisibility charm when he's around Draco, but he almost always had it on, including now.

Thinking back to when he'd first obtained the bracelet, he recalls Draco promising him that it would help to heal him. Harry had thought Draco was just trying to entice him to meet up with Draco so that the blonde could learn his identity and advance to the next round of the journal competition, but perhaps Draco really had been honest about the bracelet's effects.

Unfortunately, Harry can't ask Draco outright. He'd confessed far too much to both him and Snape anonymously through the journals, and he still can't bear the thought of connecting those confessions to himself. _Especially_ not after the humiliating episodes of this summer, when he'd desperately turned to them for help when Vernon threw a vase at him and cut his eye.

For now, all Harry can do is keep writing and be grateful for the protective weight on his wrist that alleviates the pain in his hand. Not completely, but to a level that's bearable. And the words aren't as deeply-etched as his friends' had been.

By the time Umbitch lets him leave, Harry sees a vein throbbing in her neck, probably annoyed at his nonchalance throughout the detention.

He silently thanks Draco for helping him earn this small victory.

* * *

The Slytherin common room is nearly empty when Draco's magic starts tugging at his awareness. It only takes a moment after that for him to recognize it as the spell he'd cast on the bracelet he gave to whoever he was speaking to in the journal.

Pansy Parkinson shoots him a concerned look as Draco immediately throws himself off the couch he'd been lying on and flies down the hall to his dormitory. But Draco can't bring himself to give a damn about her or the disgruntled roommates he shoves out of his way in his haste to get to the trunk at the foot of his bed.

After a minute of frantically scrounging around in his trunk, Draco's fingers finally find what they're looking for: the leather cover of his journal from last school year. He pulls it out and takes it with him to his bed, snatching a quill from his bedside table on the way.

Opening the journal, he writes, **Are you okay?**

Draco had thought himself finally resigned to the fact that he's still unclear about who he's been writing to all this time, but now he's reliving the anxiety he felt over the summer as he watched Snape attempt to provide healing potion instructions in his own journal, unable to do anything more despite his eagerness to help someone so clearly in need of it.

There's still the lingering thought in his head, _What if it's Harry?_

But he can't bring himself to consider that too seriously. Harry is strong, stronger than Draco could ever be. And as the golden child of the wizarding world (well, except not now perhaps as _The Daily Prophet_ attempts his defamation), he would never have gone through the experiences that Draco has heard about from someone through the journal.

No response is forthcoming, and it's maddening. Draco's magic keeps flaring up, telling him that the bracelet's owner is still being hurt.

It feels like hours pass by before he finally sees a response in his journal, making his heart thunder as he sees the writing appear.

**I'm fine. Don't worry about me.**

The tension that had been building in Draco's gut finally starts to dissolve, but he can't help feeling a twinge of sorrow that he can't go check on this student who has endured so much. He's relying on the word of someone who could very well be an unreliable narrator. But he has no choice other than to trust what he's told.

Instead of pushing the issue, Draco talks to his journal partner about more pleasant topics late into the night, eventually falling asleep with the book splayed on his chest.


	18. Chapter 18: Right Out in the Open

"Lies and secrets, Tessa, they are like a cancer in the soul. They eat away what is good and leave only destruction behind."

― Cassandra Clare, _Clockwork Prince_

Harry rubs his left hand as he stumbles back to Gryffindor Tower. He's just had his fourth detention with Umbridge, and her methods of punishment still haven't changed. This time, she forced him to etch "I must not question my professors" onto the back of his hand because he'd dared to ask Umbridge if they could _please_ practice actually casting a particularly useful defensive spell in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

When he walks into the common room, he immediately spots Ron and Hermione whispering together in a corner. For an instant, his feet start instinctively carrying him towards them. But before he makes it more than a few steps, his mind catches up to his body and halts his progress.

Just then, Ron looks over at Harry. For a brief moment, their eyes lock. Harry can see Hermione obliviously ranting, probably about Ron's lazy attempt at doing his own transfiguration assignment. The look Ron sends Harry is a pleading one. It says, _You're supposed to be part of this trio. I know you, and you know us. So why aren't you with us, with me? Just close the distance between us. Let's be friends again. It would be so easy for things to go back to the way they were before last year._

Harry desperately wants to do exactly that. As much as Harry is finding fulfillment by teaching his classmates how to defend themselves in their discrete Room of Requirement lessons, he _has_ missed his best friends. The first witch and wizard his own age who were kind to him. The ones he spent years getting to know.

_But they turned on me during the Triwizard Tournament, and if I trust them again, it'll only lead to more heartbreak. _

With that, Harry abruptly turns away, giving Ron only a sad smile. Maybe someday they can restore some level of the trust that used to exist between them. But not right now. Not with so much at stake.

* * *

It's late into the evening by the time Draco finally makes it to Severus' office. They meet consistently like this so that they can update each other primarily in regards to assignments from the Dark Lord but also other aspects of their lives as well.

Five minutes into Draco sitting down and opening their discussion with complaints about his busy schedule, he abruptly stops, frowning. Severus follows the young Malfoy's gaze to where it lingers on Severus' journal.

Eyes narrowing, he looks back to Draco. "Is there something wrong with our mutual friend?"

Draco avoids his eyes.

"_Draco._"

"Okay, okay, that bracelet I gave him to protect him _may_ have been alerting me that he's been in a lot of pain lately. Always in the evenings."

"What are your suspicions?"

"How do you know I have any suspicions?"

Severus rolls his eyes. "Because I know you."

Draco smirks, pleased. "Fine. Certain . . . _rumors_ have been spreading amongst the students that Professor Umbridge has been engaging in particularly unpleasant tactics during her detentions. Based on the days and times that my protection spell has been activated, I believe that she may be the source of his pain. Last night, I personally witnessed several students leave her office after their detentions, clutching their hands in pain.."

Severus too had not been entirely oblivious to the fact that his colleague's behavior may be exceeding the limits of most people's morals. However, he had refrained from taking any actions to stop her for fear of how it might get back to Voldemort. If he gathered a reputation as a do-gooder of some kind, it would be rather difficult for him to successfully act as a double agent in a capacity that necessitates Voldemort trusting him. In order to satisfy the man's penchant for followers who display the same love of violence and torture as himself, Severus had been prepared to bite his tongue and stay out of this whole situation.

But now, a child who has already been through a great deal is now at risk. And it could very well be Potter, as he and Draco had theorized previously. There is no way that Severus could defend himself to the Dark Lord if he deliberately saves _Potter_, of all people, from Umbridge's torture.

And yet, Severus also finds that he is no longer willing to overlook this situation until it blows over on its own. So what is a man in his position to do?

"Unfortunately, I believe your suspicions may very well be correct, Draco."

"So what do we do about it?"

"The better question would be what _you _can do about it."

At this, Draco angrily demands, "Why just me?"

"You know we're both in precarious positions due to our . . . _involvement_ . . . in certain social circles. I can't meddle in this situation without appearing sympathetic to Potter's plight, if he is indeed involved with this, which is a risk I simply cannot take. You, on the other hand, are a student. I believe there are a plethora of strict rules you might find yourself breaking, thus finding yourself in one of Umbridge's detentions. She is unlikely to think of the consequences that would follow . . . namely, your very influential father's sudden involvement and defusement of the situation on his _precious son's_ behalf."

The young blond boy smirks with a scheming air that belies his age. "It's a good thing my father doesn't know how he's being used by his _precious son _to take down the very regime he helped to create."

* * *

So it goes that the next day, Draco finds himself goading Crabbe and Goyle into arguing with him in the hallway so he can have an excuse to hex them right when Umbridge walks by, as she should be heading from the Great Hall to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom any minute now.

The problem with this plan is that the two boys are too dull-witted to even rise to Draco's bait. No matter how many times he backhandedly insults their parents, they simply nod along with everything he says, recognizing his authority on all matters.

_At least I'm not surrounded by bull-headed Gryffindors who don't know how to shut up._

But then he looks over Crabbe's shoulder and happens to see Blaise Zabini sauntering down the hall like he owns the place.

_Perfect._

"Hey Zabini!" Draco calls out, purposefully attracting attention.

Unsuspecting, the other boy makes his way over to Draco's little group, eyebrow cocked.

"Crabbe and Goyle here told me that your mother's a greedy, murderous bitch. I must say, I'm not sure whether or not to be glad that my mother didn't think of such a vicious strategy―"

As Draco had hoped, Blaise's face had turned cold and stony as he spoke, eventually cutting him off by lashing out at him with a simple, subtle Jelly-Legs Curse. Draco, of course, simply sidesteps it and responds with a less subtle Slug-Vomiting Charm. Blaise manages to avoid it, but Umbridge's outraged shout from slightly further down the hall tells him that his goal has already been accomplished.

"There is absolutely no excuse for this type of behavior, boys!" she scolds as she marches straight towards them. Draco notices Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle all paling at the thunderous expression on her face, having never really been on the receiving end of such adult fury in their coddled little lives. "I expected better from you Slytherins, especially as leaders in my Inquisitorial Squad! Well, we can't have you thinking that either of you is above the law. Malfoy and Zabini, I expect to see you both for detention this evening."

_Well, that wasn't so hard._

Draco sends a mischievous wink at Zabini, who, unexpectedly, blushes slightly in response.

If only Draco could get a certain Potter out of his head, maybe he'd be interested in learning more about that blush.

* * *

The detention goes as expected, with Draco and Zabini both being forced to etch "I must not duel at school" into their own flesh. Draco decides that this must be what happened to Harry or whoever else he and Snape have been talking to through the journal because the pain feels exactly like what the bracelet protection charm had alerted him to.

After that, Draco sends an angry letter by owl to his father the next morning. Without his having to specifically request a thing, Lucius Malfoy raises an uproar directly with the Minister for Magic himself. Even better than that, however, is the entertainment provided to the entire Great Hall at breakfast when Narcissa sends the mother of all howlers directly to Umbridge herself. Later that day, the Minister and several other witches and wizards of various importance within the Ministry arrive at Hogwarts.

They end up asking all students who have suffered corporal punishments during Umbridge's detentions to stay in the Great Hall after dinner to provide evidentiary testimonials against her. Really, the marks on their flesh are proof enough.

As Draco and Zabini, practically the only ones in all of Slytherin, wait for their turns, Draco notices that nearly all of Gryffindor is there, including Harry. _What a surprise._

Harry is one of the first students called up, and Draco is glad that he doesn't so much as glance in the direction of the Slytherins, probably not suspecting to see any friendly faces, let alone Draco, there. This means that Draco has a perfect view of Harry speaking in a soft voice to a Ministry official about his experiences with Umbridge. And a perfect view when he pulls his left sleeve back to reveal a hand that looks to be scarred less prominently than the others. Less scarred because Draco's charmed bracelet dangles from his wrist.

Draco takes a moment to admire his handiwork.

Then, the truth hits him like a freight train as he realizes just how fucked he and Snape are. They've both been helping _the-Boy-Who-Lived_ for months now, growing emotionally attached to him even. Voldemort would _kill _them if he knew.

Draco bites his lip. There's only one thing to do next.

* * *

Severus hadn't been present in the Great Hall to witness students giving statements against Umbridge. Instead, he had been sent to "comfort" the members of his House. Most Slytherins would sneer at the idea of such a thing, but Severus simply shepherded his students back to their common room, announced that he would be staying there a while if anyone wished to speak with him about anything, and then took a post in a comfortable armchair.

A few students gathered their courage to approach him and ask whether the accusations about Umbridge were true. Severus answered them, honestly, that he did not know but suspected that they were.

As the last group of curious students creeps away from him, Draco bursts into the room, hair askamp like he's been running his hands through it wildly.

"It's him, it's Harry. I saw him wearing my bracelet," he gasps, out of breath, likely having sprinted straight from the Great Hall to the Slytherin Common Room.

Profanity has always seemed so irredeemably vulgar to Severus, to the point where he hardly ever even contemplates using it. But at this particular moment, the only word that comes to his mind is "fuck." Because he and Draco are well and truly _fucked. _

They've both grown protective and fond of _Harry Potter_, the worst possible person for them to care about. It already puts them in danger to work against Voldemort by discretely seeking his horcruxes and undermining his plans from the inside, but if they show _any_ signs of caring for Voldemort's target, the boy he wants dead more than anything, the kind of torture they would likely endure before dying would be unimaginable.

And even if they disguise their feelings for Harry the way they're disguising so much already, there's the chance that Harry's very mind could still be their betrayer. Severus taught the boy how to shield his mind from nightmares, but that's only the most basic occlumency, nothing compared to what he'd need to be capable of in order to protect their secret.

His mind is still racing, trying to reconcile this revelation into a course of action that won't spell certain death for the three of them, when he realizes that Draco's standing.

"Where are you going?" Severus demands.

"To find Harry. Aren't you coming?"

"_Draco,_" he begins, "we can't trust him with our secret. He's not trained in occlumency the way we are―"

"Then teach him," Draco interrupts, "I don't _care_. I'm going to find him right now, with or without you."

With that, Draco bolts out of the room, leaving Severus to curse under his breath as he chases after him, unsure of whether he would really rather drag the boy to the Slytherin common room or join him in his desperate hunt for Harry.

Ultimately, he decides to join Draco. He can always obliviate Harry, and maybe even Draco too, if this goes disastrously.

They don't quite run through the halls, but they do stride as quickly as they can, both of them scanning every nook and cranny for the boy, as if they expect to find him in any one of them in their eagerness.

They head in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, taking the route that Potter would most likely have used to get there from the Great Hall.

When they finally find him, it's on the same corridor as the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room. Draco lunges ahead of Severus, practically tackling Harry against the wall, to stop him from going where they cannot follow.

"Harry, why didn't you tell me―"

"Not here, Draco," Severus hisses.

With an annoyed scowl, Draco shuts his mouth and hauls Harry to follow Severus in the direction of an empty classroom where they can discuss matters in private.

* * *

Harry can do little more than blink in surprise as Draco finally lets go of him while Snape casts every privacy charm he's ever heard of, and plenty more he hasn't, around the classroom they're now alone in.

Finally, when they've both turned to look at him, Harry manages to ask, "What's going on?"

Then, they both proceed to look at him like he's the world's biggest idiot.

"How do you _possibly_ manage to get yourself in so much trouble?" Snape asks in a drawl.

"What do you mean? If you're talking about Umbridge―"

"No, we're not talking about _Umbridge_. Well, not _just_ Umbridge, at least," interrupts Draco. "We know that it's you we've both been talking to in our journals. And don't even try to deny it," he adds quickly, probably gleaning something from the look on Harry's face. He'd been trying to remain impassive and probably failing epically. Draco grabs his left wrist and yanks back his sleeve to reveal the bracelet that Draco had charmed to protect him.

Harry's heart stops, his mind hitting a brick wall. He's spent the past year doing everything he could to hide his secret identity from Snape and Draco. They're his enemies, but the journal allowed him to at least _pretend_ that he could just connect with them as fellow wizards. He should've known it wouldn't be able to last, that he was asking for too much by trying to be friends with Draco as Harry Potter instead of just the mysterious boy in the journal. Now, because he got too greedy and trusting instead of cautious, he's going to lose _all_ of it. Voldemort will know everything that he told them. He probably already does.

Suddenly, Harry's body seems to be moving without him really being aware of it. He's throwing himself at Draco, violently. Fists are flying, and for a moment, Harry thinks they're fighting each other. But then he realizes it's just _him_ fighting _Draco_. The Slytherin makes no attempt to escape Harry's wrath, simply standing there calmly and letting Harry pummel him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry's vaguely aware of Snape slumping to the ground, murmuring, "We're doomed," with a level of defeat that doesn't quite match the victory that they have in knowing so many of Harry's vulnerabilities.

Harry's throat feels sore, and he realizes that he's been screaming at both of them, angry words that redirect his pain at what he knows is the loss of their friendship into a protective rage that will maybe, just maybe, not let them see just how much he's hurting. But his defensiveness probably speaks for itself. He's never yelled like this at _anyone_.

By now, Draco's not standing up quite so straight. His lip is cut, one of his eyes is swollen, and he's covered in smaller cuts from Harry's nails. That's only the damage Harry can see on his face, which makes the condition of the rest of his body a mystery.

For a moment, Harry feels guilty. So guilty that he wants to stop screaming and punching and just apologize to Draco, let himself cry and beg both of them not to leave him and report right back to Voldemort.

But that's pathetic. _You're pathetic_, a spiteful voice in Harry's own head reminds him.

This room. The disappointment on Snape's face and the terrible, terrible calm in Draco's eyes. This most important secret, the biggest risk he's ever taken, right out in the open. Harry can't take any of it for another second.

_Run. _

That's the only thing he can think to do, so Harry throws his most vicious punch yet at Draco's jaw, knocking him right to the ground. Wasting no time, he darts past Snape still slumped on the floor and hurls the classroom door open, dashing down the hall to Gryffindor's common room entrance, only breathing when the door is shut firmly behind him, sealing him, at least temporarily, somewhere Snape and Draco can't reach.

At least, that was the _plan_.

Instead, what really happens is that the door doesn't fling itself open when Harry throws himself on it.

_Snape must've locked us all in here._

Further enraged, Harry turns his anger on Snape, not even caring about the consequences it might rain down upon him.

"How dare you trap me in here," Harry snarls at him.

"It's just part of the privacy warding―"

Harry interrupts Snape. "I don't give a _fuck_ about your privacy warding! You already know everything there is to know about me, and you've probably already told Voldemort all of it! Just let me go. I don't want to be here with the two of you." Harry hates how his voice turns desperate, pleading. He wants to be _strong_ but damnit, he'd let himself care about them, and now he has to pretend not to. _Force_ himself not to.

"We haven't told Voldemort anything about you," Snape says firmly.

"And we're not going to," Adds Draco.

Heart racing, Harry thinks, _What does that mean? Are they lying? Do they want me to keep trusting them so that they can keep feeding Voldemort information? I can't_― I need―

Draco. _Draco_ is in his arms. He's embracing Harry, running his hands up and down his back soothingly, which is when Harry realizes that he's _shaking_.

Harry's being hugged comfortingly by Draco Malfoy while Severus Snape looks on, with what might even be _sympathy_ replacing the usual sneer on his face.

"Stop thinking so hard, Potter," Snape drawls as Draco finally pulls away from Harry.

"But why did you guys tell me that―that you _know_? I'm not going to keep telling you things that you can then tell Voldemort so he can use it all against me―"

This time, Draco responds. "Because we both realized how much we care about you, idiot. It doesn't matter that you're Harry Potter. We cared before, and we still care now."

"But we're on different sides―"

"That's just your assumption." Draco's smiling now, and it's a _taunting_ smile. Like he knows something Harry doesn't.

"What are you trying to say?" Draco can't possibly mean that he and his Death-Eater family are on opposite sides of this conflict. Can he?

"That's right," Draco smirks playfully, as if he can see the cogs turning in Harry's head, knows exactly what conclusions are being drawn there.

"It is essential that all of the information that we share with you must remain confidential, Potter. You _cannot_ tell anyone, not even Granger and Weasley," interrupts Snape.

"I―I won't," assures Harry, still in a kind of daze, unsure what it is exactly that he's agreeing to keep confidential.

"Well then," continues Draco, "now that we know a lot more about you than we ever thought, we'll tell you what we've _really _been up to."

And thus begins a tale of eavesdropping and secret meetings, plans and promises made in the dark, the determination of two people to stand for what's right even when everyone around them has caved to evil. Evil would be so easy to side with. It would hold no ill consequences for them, whereas standing up to it will likely result in their deaths.

Harry listens as Draco relays his discovery of horcruxes. He listens as Snape explains how Voldemort's life is tied to them. And finally, when they're done talking and the room is filled with the kind of dead silence that only results from the highest levels of privacy warding, he can only think to say, "So, you're like double agents then?"

Draco snickers while Snape presses his lips firmly together, clearly unimpressed with Harry's observations.

"If you are referencing Muggle culture in some strange manner, Potter―"

Harry interrupts Snape by saying, "You're working for Dumbledore by pretending to work for Voldemort against Dumbledore so that he trusts you. Double agents."

"Dumbledore has no idea where my true allegiances lie," counters Draco.

"Why not?"

Draco shrugs, as if the matter didn't even warrant his consideration. "He doesn't need to know. He knows about Snape and Snape knows about me. It's safer that way."

"Well, what if I could help you work against Voldemort?"

Snape's eyes narrow. "Elaborate."

"Remember those nightmares that were bothering me? The ones you taught me occlumency to protect myself against?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think my mind is connected to Voldemort's somehow. I guess because of my scar? Anyway, the point is that I've been able to see through his eyes in my dreams. I saw both of _you_ as if I was him."

Draco perks up. "You could use that connection to figure out what his horcruxes are and where he's hiding them!"

"_Draco_," hisses Snape, "that would be an _extremely_ perilous and inadvisable task. If the Dark Lord were to notice the mental intrusions and even _suspect_ that his horcruxes are at risk, we would completely squander the element of surprise. We cannot afford to compromise that or our own involvement."

"How were _you _planning on finding his horcruxes then? Were you just going to ask him? I'm sure it'd be _much_ less suspicious to just march right up to Lord Voldemort himself and just demand a list of horcruxes and their locations than for me to just use whatever mental link we have to coax him into dreaming about them."

There's a moment of silence as Snape glares at Harry.

Then Draco snaps his fingers and says, "What about continuing occlumency lessons for Harry? Snape, you could teach him how to use their mental link in a way where Voldemort wouldn't realize he's being manipulated."

Snape doesn't deny it, so Harry sends Draco a grateful smile and then grins triumphantly at Snape. "Sounds like a great plan to me!"

"There will be further discussion on this matter, but please, both of you, do not discuss our plans without taking the necessary precautions first." At that, he gestures around the room, referring to the privacy wards, and then swiftly leaves Harry alone with Draco.

"So," Harry says awkwardly.

Luckily for both of them, Draco has never been as awkward as Harry. "You know," he remarks off-handedly, "even though we've been spending more time together lately, I never really thought you would feel comfortable sharing the kind of information you shared with me in your journal."

_Alright, I guess we're having _that _kind of conversation._

"The anonymity that I could hide behind with the journal helped," Harry admits.

Draco hums absentmindedly, seemingly distracted now by Harry's hand. The one with the scars and the bracelet that he's never before allowed Draco to see him wearing.

"You were there in the Great Hall today, weren't you? You saw the bracelet as I was testifying. I didn't expect you to be there, so I didn't think to charm it invisible."

The blonde offers him a cross between a smirk and a smile as he traces the words on Harry's hand with a fingertip so lightly that it sends pleasant tingles up Harry's arm. When he notices Harry's reaction to the touch, his smirk deepens, and he sends more fingertips delicately brushing the sensitive underside of Harry's wrist.

"Why do you keep doing this?" he can't stop himself from asking.

"Doing what?" Draco's face hardens, even as he doesn't stop his movements.

"Touching me. Looking at me the way you do. All of it. _Why?_"

Draco looks away, swallowing. "Harry, I―"

His voice cracks, but he seems to want to keep talking through it. Harry, however, doesn't want to force him to say aloud what he already knows is coming.

"Is it because you miss Cedric?"

Like a book slamming shut, the tenderness disappears from Draco's face. Suddenly, he resembles an ornate statue. Something so cold and distant, it doesn't really feel human anymore.

"_Don't_ bring him into this."

Draco's gentle fingers slip away from Harry's arm. He finds himself wanting to grab Draco and put his hand back where it was only moments before.

But he doesn't do that. Instead, Draco removes the privacy charms Snape had erected, while Harry stands there awkwardly.

"I'm sorry for hitting you," Harry mumbles.

Draco waves a hand dismissively.

They leave the room without speaking to one another, or even looking at each other directly.

That night, Harry lies in bed and takes extra caution in making sure that his mind fortress is firmly secure. There, he's still the King, and he imagines that Snape and Draco are able to join him there. While Snape advises him on how to maintain the security of his domain, it's Draco whose arms he imagines protectively wrapped around him while he sleeps.


	19. Chapter 19: Like Calls to Like

"**You can help me pick out a tiara when we're done saving the world."**

—**Marissa Meyer,** _**Cress**_

_We're all going to die. _

That's the recurring thought that relentlessly plagues Severus as he attempts to teach Harry Potter the finer points of occlumency. The lessons he'd unknowingly given the boy over the summer seemed to have worked well in blocking the accidental thought transference he received from the mental connection he shared with Voldemort, but trying to get Harry to defend himself against outright mental _attacks _felt like trying to teach magic to a muggle.

"Again!" he snaps.

Harry raises his head, eyes pleading with Severus to end this torture. Severus ignores him of course, and promptly lashes out at Harry's mind. While he can feel that Harry has a shield, it's intransient enough that Severus is able to slip right through it, as if Harry's mind didn't even register his existence.

Because he's only trying to teach Harry to prevent someone from getting through his mental shield, he tries not to let himself delve into Harry's actual thoughts and memories, but he can't prevent himself from getting a few glimpses each time he breaks through Harry's mental barrier.

_Ron's angry face as Harry begs him to believe him when he tries to reassure his best friend that he didn't sneak his name into the Goblet of Fire. The relief of talking to Snape and Draco in the journals, people who seem to care about who he really is deep down without the shadow of his name to obscure everything that really matters. His heart twitching as he watches Draco kissing Cedric. His heart _breaking _as Draco kisses him. Watching himself hit Draco as if his actions are no longer his own to decide_—

Severus abruptly yanks himself out of Harry's head.

"You didn't even try!" he spits.

Harry glares at him. "You didn't even give me a chance to figure out how to strengthen my mental shields or whatever the hell it is I'm supposed to be doing. Your instructions suck!"

"He has a point," Draco suddenly comments. He hadn't been there a few minutes ago, so Severus guesses that he must have walked in during one of their last two quick back-to-back exercises.

As soon as Draco speaks, Severus can't help but note the way that Harry's head snaps straight to him. _Interesting. And, of course, presuming that the glimpses I saw were memories and not just mere fantasies. . . . Well. That complicates things even further._

But now that he's noticed it, he can't _un_-notice the sexual tension that seeps between the two of them. It makes Severus want to do a faceplant, a long one, both out of frustration that he'll have to continue dealing with the two of them and whatever romantic entanglement they've somehow fallen into, and out of desperation to just not have to look at or worry about them for at least a few minutes.

"Harry," Severus tries again, "your occlumency shields right now are intended for Voldemort's subconscious. It might feel like a solid fortress to you, but when I attack your mind, I'm able to slip right through. That's probably because you've only designed your shields with the one specific purpose of preventing your nightmares. But you have to adapt them to recognize me as a threat, recognize anyone who isn't _you_ as a threat. A conscious attack should feel different from the accidental nightmares Voldemort sent you, so you have to prepare for conscious legilimens attacks as well as those nightmares. Does that make any sense?"

Harry nods slowly, and Severus wants to roll his eyes because the lovesick idiot is still staring at Draco, not even glancing once at Severus as he'd offered what he'd thought had been some very insightful advice.

_I hope we kill Voldemort soon so I never have to be alone in a room with them again._

* * *

Luna has had a love of exploring as long as she can remember. So it only seems natural that sooner or later, she would find the Room of Hidden Things when she walked into the Room of Requirement one day, thinking only of her desire to find items as unique as her.

The room itself is huge, and it's stacked so high with objects that she can't see from one end of the room to the other. But rather than being overwhelmed, Luna only feels _elated_ by how much time she can spend here, carefully looking through these objects, wondering about their histories, and perhaps claiming a few of them for herself.

For a while, Luna simply admires the various books, old clocks, statues of unfamiliar people, and other random assortment of objects. But nothing really sticks out to her the way she'd been hoping.

At least, until she notices a tiara, slightly discolored from age. Something in her _sings_ when she sees it, and she knows without a shadow of a doubt that she was meant to come here and find this very thing.

She darts over to it and, after cleaning it with a quick spell, eagerly places it on her head, before turning to face a nearby mirror. She can't stop herself from letting out a small squeal of joy at how perfect the silver tiara looks resting atop her golden head.

As she continues her day, still wearing the tiara, Luna receives compliment after compliment as stunned gazes turn to her, as if they'd never even noticed her before. And Luna knows they probably really _hadn't_ noticed her. But the tiara isn't suddenly making her special now; it only shows the rest of the world how special she's _always_ been. Like calls to like, after all.

When she sees Harry on her way to dinner, she expects him to voice something like her own thoughts out loud. After all, he's always seen a truer version of her than everyone else, the same way she has for him. But instead, Harry stops in his tracks, wide eyes locked onto the diadem resting atop her head.

"Luna," he breathes, voice sounding strangely far-off, "what _is_ that?"

"Some kind of tiara or diadem. I'm not sure really. I found it in the Room of Requirement, Don't you think it suits me?"

"Yes, but . . . there's something . . . I've seen it before. Where . . . " he trails off, shaking his head as if trying to break free of a stupor.

Luna watches him walk away, still muttering to himself in broken phrases, and suddenly her joyous reaction to her discovery dwindles.

Taking the tiara off her head for the first time since she'd placed it there, she brings it to her eyes to examine more closely. That's when she notices the quote etched upon its surface: _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure._

And then Luna knows exactly what it is that she's found.

* * *

Harry knows he reacted strangely to Luna's new tiara, that he might have unintentionally offended her because of it, but he just can't get rid of this feeling that he _knows_ it somehow. That it means something to him. But he's never cared about a piece of jewelry in his life, so why would he give a damn about this one?

As much as he tries to mentally move on the rest of the evening, his thoughts keep returning to the same thing over and over again, and eventually Fred and George both start pestering him about it during dinner.

That night, Harry falls asleep still thinking about the diadem on Luna's head, and the way some part of him had felt called to it. He wants to know why he feels that connection, _needs_ to know.

When he dreams, he sees that same silver tiara hidden away in a forest. Then there's a flash of green as a peasant crumples to the ground. Harry gasps as a part of his soul tears away and races into the tiara clutched in his left hand. The scene changes again, and he's in the Room of Hidden Things, carefully placing his precious creation somewhere no one would ever think to look.

The first thing Harry does after jolting awake in the morning is reach for his journal, flipping quickly to tell both Snape and Draco that they need to meet, _urgently_.

* * *

Severus certainly did not expect the first thing to come out of Harry's mouth at this "urgent meeting" he'd demanded that Severus schedule today to be, "I think I know where a horcrux is!" But on second thought, perhaps he _should_ have expected that sort of thing from him. The boy had had high ambitions from the moment he'd agreed to form an alliance with Draco and Severus, after all.

The problem with those high ambitions is that they're likely to get everyone involved killed if Harry doesn't also learn how to use some caution. Unfortunately, Severus is beginning to think that that might be an impossible task. So here they are, and Severus just _can't wait_ to hear how Harry likely threw caution to the wind for the sake of the location of a horcrux they won't be able to destroy if Voldemort kills them first. Which he probably will, since Severus hasn't yet deemed Harry _nearly_ skilled enough at subtle legilimency to go poking around in the Dark Lord's mind.

_Maybe I really should have just obliviated him like I so desperately wanted to when he hit Draco that night we found out his identity._

While he's still struggling to retain his composure, Draco eagerly demands, "Where?"

"Here in Hogwarts!" Harry announces triumphantly.

At that, Severus can feel his eyes narrow. _Here?_

As if answering his unasked question, Harry clarifies, "I think Luna found it in the Room of Requirement." And then he launches into an explanation of how he'd seen her wearing a silver tiara yesterday that had left him feeling so drawn to it, that he'd dreamt about it.

"You and I are having a _discussion_ about the virtues of caution later, Potter," Severus sneers at him. "Until then, both of you leave. Get to your classes. I'll take care of this. Say nothing to anyone."

Once the two idiots under his mentorship leave, Severus casts a quick spell that allows him to see Luna Lovegood's class schedule. She should be heading from Charms to a study hall soon. Best to take care of this now before the horcrux that's apparently out in the open and in the possession of an innocent, unknowing student uses its dark magic to cause any damage, let alone, _Merlin forbid_, alert the Dark Lord that it's been discovered.

She's already sat down to begin her study hall by the time Severus arrives, so he strides straight to the professor overseeing the students, McGonagall, and simply informs her that he urgently needs to speak with Miss Lovegood about an issue with her recent potions assignment and will send the girl straight back to her study hall promptly. The transfiguration professor nods her approval, so as calmly as he can, Severus then turns to face Luna. Rowena's Diadem sits atop her head, and Severus can't help but wonder how no one thought to question the origin of such a resplendent artifact.

"Miss Lovegood," Severus says quietly as he approaches her, so as not to draw any more attention to himself than he already has, "I need to speak with you about a recent potions assignment. Would you follow me?"

Luna obeys without a word. It isn't until they're standing face-to-face in the hallway with the solid oak door closed behind them that Severus fully takes in the girl's appearance.

Whereas she had always seemed to him the exemplar of radiant sunshine in human-form, there now seems to be a thick coat of clouds holding back her natural brightness: there are bags beneath her red eyes that indicate she likely didn't sleep well last night if at all, her skin is paler than usual, her eyes are dimmer, and even her hair seems lackluster. Even more concerning is the fact that she can't quite seem to stop shaking.

Severus takes a moment to simply pity this girl who has been visibly falling apart in the midst of a crowd in which no one has reached out to help her. He knows exactly how painful that kind of loneliness feels and would wish it upon no one, let alone this vulnerable child.

"Do you know what it is you're wearing?" he asks her.

"It suits me, don't you think?" she instead asks half-heartedly, as if she had once been far more convicted of this fact.

"That diadem might be lovely in appearance, Miss Lovegood, but I can see that it's hurting you."

Luna's face takes on a plaintive look, as if begging him to alter that truth for her somehow. "But it's a treasured relic of my House. Why should it hurt me? I thought I was _worthy_ of it."

A part of Severus' heart breaks upon hearing the desperation in her voice, the way it strains to reach his ears as though each word spoken has waged a successful battle against her barely suppressed urge to break down and cry.

"You are worthy of wearing Rowena's Diadem and receiving its gifts of wisdom. But this is no longer simply that relic any longer. It has been imbued with dark magic, and that is what is hurting you, Luna."

"Really?" she asks.

"Yes. I'm sorry to say this, but I need you to give the diadem to me so I can rid it of the dark magic that is corrupting it. If I can keep the diadem intact in the process, I promise to return it to you."

"Okay," she says softly, and reaches to take it off when suddenly her hands still as they grip the horcrux.

"I-I don't think I can. . . ."

Severus reaches towards her head and realizes what she means. It's attached to her scalp, and it won't come off regardless of how much pressure he applies.

_Of course _not even this part could be easy.

He sighs and lets his hands fall to his side. "I apologize, Miss Lovegood, but I'm afraid that you'll have to come with me. We can take care of this, but not here."  
At that, her lips press together in a firm line and her jaw clenches, but regardless of whatever fears she might have, the Ravenclaw nods without a sign of hesitation, proving something that Severus had already known: Gryffindors aren't the only ones capable of great bravery.

Severus leads her to the Room of Requirement, asking it for a place where he can safely remove and destroy a horcrux. When they walk in, they see a thick, cylindrical stone mass in the middle of an otherwise bare room. Luna merely stares at it in bewilderment, but Severus walks around it in an attempt to ascertain what the room is suggesting to him. When he reaches out to touch the stone, he finds it so filled with magic that it actually zaps him a little, and he yanks his hand away. But more importantly than that, the stone opens up where he touched it, revealing a tiara-shaped pedestal inside the hollow cylinder. After a few moments pass, the stone closes again, but this time, instead of a completely smooth exterior, there is a single, small hole in the rock. The perfect size to fit the tip of a wand.

Mind whirring, Severus returns back to his first problem, one that he must solve imminently if he is to destroy the horcrux via the Room's suggested method: how to get the diadem off of Luna Lovegood's head. He's already tried to simply take it off, and so has she, and those attempts failed. Logically, it would stand to reason that magic could be required to remove the magical object. A spell then, but which one should he use? What would be both strong enough to achieve his purpose but mild enough to do so without harming Luna?

After finally deciding on his complete course of action, Severus turns to face Luna, who is waiting expectantly. Brandishing his wand, he calls out, "_Alarte Ascendare_!" and focuses his magic on the task of removing the horcrux from Luna's head. The girl stands completely still, and for a moment, it seems that the horcrux will successfully fight off his spell, but then it jerks off her head and flies a few feet into the air.

Severus quickly redirects his magic non-verbally, willing it to levitate the diadem towards the stone. He touches the cylinder, opening it again, and then sends the diadem onto the pedestal, where the rock seems to weld it in place.

Right as the stone closes around it, the horcrux seems to realize its imminent doom and a harsh cry pierces the air, shaking the stone. Severus briefly worries that the Room hasn't created a strong enough defense against the horcrux, but the rock holds strong, so he forces his unease down and moves ahead with his task.

He inserts his wand into the tiny opening that has once again appeared as the rest of the stone closed over. Not wanting to give Luna any bad ideas, he again focuses his magic on the spell he wants to use non-verbally. _Fiendfyre_: incredibly dangerous and difficult to control. But Severus has to trust that it can be contained within the stone prison the Room has created for him.

Straightening his shoulders, he allows the cursed fire to pour out of his wand, filling the stone chamber with its deadly desire to consume and destroy. When the stone starts rumbling after less than a minute, he focuses every bit of energy he has left into forcing the fire to _stop_ coming out of his wand, which proves to be much more difficult. But luckily for both him and the Lovegood girl, he manages it, just barely, before the stone cylinder explodes in a magical burst that, rather than sending bits of rock and fire everywhere, vanishes everything that had been inside it with only a loud, crackling _BOOM!_

Severus has just let out a sigh, feeling some of the tension leaking out of his body, when he hears a _clang_ from beside him. He looks over and sees Luna bending down to pick up a now-blackened tiara from the ground. He moves quickly, snatching it before she can touch it, just in case the dark magic is still encased inside it. But even after thoroughly searching for traces of it with his own magic, he can sense nothing, so he hands it over to her, as he'd promised to do originally.

It might not be as traditionally beautiful, but Luna smiles fondly as she holds it.

* * *

If Draco had known how much more entertaining his Potions classes would get after he, Snape, and Harry all officially teamed up, he would've forced them to do it _much_ sooner. After all, who _wouldn't_ struggle to contain their laughter at seeing Snape direct the most over-the-top glares he's ever seen at Harry, knowing that merely last night, the professor had been gently helping Harry to start practice using legilimency against the two of them.

_Gentleness hadn't been something Draco would've ever thought the man capable of until Snape appears at his and Harry's sides when they both collapse on the floor after Harry's first attempt at using legilimency against Draco. Draco had purposefully weakened his occlumency shields so that Harry could have a better chance at success, but Harry had blasted through them with such force that Draco couldn't stop him from tumbling straight into some of Draco's most vulnerable memories (_his father's disappointed face, the hurt he'd felt at being rejected by Harry as a little boy who had never been rejected before, how it felt to kiss Cedric and know that at least someone could want him in that way, how it felt to kiss Harry and hope that—_). Draco had summoned all his strength to catapult Harry out of his mind, and when he opens his eyes, it's to see Harry's dazed eyes blinking rapidly a few feet away from him, with Snape knelt down next to both of them, a hand on each of their shoulders. He asks if they're okay, grounding them in the present, and declares that they will take a break. Though he was generally loath to show it, Snape had shown in that moment that he did care about both of them to the point where he was willing to put their own well-being above the urgency of their mission against Voldemort. Something Dumbledore and his "greater good" philosophy would never allow._

"Draco," Snape's cool voice pulls him back into the present, "I'm sure you can help bumbling Potter here recall the correct brewing time for the invigoration draught that we will begin today?"

"_Of course_, Professor," Draco says, smirking at Harry. "Anyone with half a brain could recall that it's three hours."

"Very good. Ten points to Slytherin," Snape says with his usual air of House favoritism.

When the Professor turns his back to write some instructions on the board, Harry aims a blatantly crude gesture at Draco, to which Draco responds by enchanting a piece of parchment to flare above the other boy's head with the words "Stupid Gryffindor" visible for the whole class to see before tearing itself into tiny pieces that flake into his hair like dandruff. Snickers at their "rivalry" have broken out all over the class by now, so Harry doesn't get a chance to do anything else before Snape turns back around to silence them and continue teaching.

By the time the class ends, Draco is in a playful mood from all the stoking of the flames the three of them had done to retain appearances. He just wishes that he could satisfy his desire to be openly playful with Harry in a friendly way rather than a malicious one.

"Draco, Potter, please stay for a few moments!" Snape calls out, before either of them can move towards the door.

He carefully avoids looking directly at Harry until after the last of their classmates have left the room. As Snape begins crafting the multitude of privacy spells he deems necessary to have in place before beginning any of their conversations, Draco finally allows himself to flick his gaze over to meet Harry's eyes, which are, unsurprisingly, waiting for him.

"Have fun today?" Draco asks with a small smile, the playful one he'd wished he could give Harry in class.

Harry rewards him with a genuine grin of his own, the kind that Draco still can't take for granted after so many years of never seeing anything but the other boy's glares directed his way. "Of course," he says, thus assuring Draco that he hadn't gone too far in his taunting.

"Boys," Snape cuts in, "I'm afraid we have more pressing matters to attend to. Come in, Miss Lovegood!"

And then Luna Lovegood walks into the room, wearing something that may once have been a tiara. She takes the burnt thing off her head and gently sets it down on the desk that Snape, Harry, and Draco have gathered around.

"This was a horcrux until I destroyed it two hours ago," Snape says.

* * *

It's a good thing that none of them had had any classes the rest of the day, because Harry and Draco had had so many questions for Snape and Luna that they'd spent at least an hour hunkered around that desk, staring at the former horcrux while talking over each other clamoring to be heard. While Luna had the most cause to be confused by the entire situation, she remained surprisingly calm throughout the meeting. Of course, her involvement in the whole affair now meant that Snape and Draco were even more anxious about their ability to keep their mission a secret from Voldemort. Luckily, Luna seemed understanding of their concerns, even after they'd asked her to swear a fifth magically-binding vow to secrecy.

Now finally back in the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry practically collapses into an overstuffed armchair by the fire. He's so tired that his eyes are practically falling back into his head. And right as he allows his head to tilt back to rest against the chair and his eyes drift to the mantle above the fireplace, he notices something that's been tacked against the wall like some kind of trophy.

Harry shoots to his feet and races over to examine the object.

_A locket_.


End file.
